The Bound Snake
by mrs.mustache
Summary: After the Final Battle, a new tyrant rears its oppressive head in the wake of celebrations, funerals, rebuilding, and fugitive-hunting - the Ministry of Magic. In this new world, new alliances must form. Marriage Law fic. EWE, AU. SS/HG. Rated M for safety - dark humor, bad words, marital duties, and super Slytherin snarkiness.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This story started as a quick fic to keep a dear friend, M, who was on bedrest amused. While I'd like to think it was my hilariousness that actually sent her into labor, I'm sure it was just a coincidence. I decided to keep going in attempt to possibly perk up some of her sleepless-baby-nights - and to use as a palate cleanser while I'm writing original fiction and working on edits for other projects. Thus, this story will be posted in a higher number of shorter, varied length chapters. It's been (and subsequent chapters will be) edited, but will likely be overall less "polished". It will not be abandoned, as M would bludgeon me with various blunt objects if I were to do so.

A/N 2/23: Fixed the duplicate text, sorry!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Thanks for letting us play with your toys, J.K. Call me, Alan Rickman.

/

Lucius Malfoy was one sick son of a bitch, but this was too much even for him.

A long-suffering sigh escaped his lips and puffed away a lock of his shimmering, platinum hair as he straightened his cravat in the mirror. He'd bet galleons that Draco had already had a full-fledged temper tantrum.

"Quit preening and get a move on!"

Lucius sneered at his reflection in the ornate mirror, one of the last few remaining relics in his estate. The damn thing had resisted all this efforts to charm it into silence - but sometimes it did give good advice.

A soft pop brought in a house elf bearing the Malfoy crest on its uniform tea towel.

"Mara is informing Master that his last guest has arrived. Everything is on time."

Lucius dismissed the elf with a wave of his hand. Head held high, he grabbed his cane and started the long walk down the wing's corridor. He could have apparated to the ballroom, but a Malfoy hurried for no one - and always made an entrance.

He paused at the top of the grand mahogany staircase to gaze down over the ballroom; a haughty sneer masked his surveillance of the crowd. As the clock struck seven, he lifted his wand to his throat with a muffled incantation.

"Welcome, friends and guests."

He spoke slowly as he descended the stairs, not once breaking stride or tone. He'd played this scene a thousand times, with his family's lives resting on his glorious shoulders. Now, he did it just for Draco. His lips turned up in a welcoming smile to his many guests as he descended into the party.

"I shall endeavor to be brief - as this is, after all, a celebration first and foremost."

A small light trained on him, while ambiance lighting kicked in elsewhere: candlelight for each circular dining table, a soft glow around the bars off to each side with food and drink, and just enough on the dance floor to illuminate feet but not wrinkles.

"Everyone was affected by the war. I will not subjugate the suffering of others by saying your losses, triumphs, blood, and sacrifices were worth more than theirs. I will simply say that we would not be here without those of you in this very room."

He leaned perhaps a bit more heavily on his cane than he would have before the war as he crossed the few feet to pick up a drink. He held a glass high - Firewhiskey, not wine - and leaned lightly against the bar.

"To those we lost, that we might honor their memory by moving beyond the shadow of war."

Over the rim of the glass he tipped back, he saw not the sneer of Death Eaters or the derision of high-society guests, but the faint spark of acceptance and sorrow in Molly Weasley's eyes.

"Please eat, drink, and otherwise make yourselves merry. Guest quarters are available in the South Wing," he gestured, "should you need a bed for the night or private conversation."

"Your eligibility, as well as additional instructions and information, is listed on your invitation. Now without further ado, welcome to the first Ministry Mixer Ba-"

Malfoy's glass shattered as it hit the floor. He stared, mouth open and all semblance of dignity and pomp by the wayside, over the heads of his audience at the side of the ballroom nearest the entrance.

"S-Severus?"

Time slowed to a crawl. The dark and dour Potions Master stood with his arms crossed across his chest, leaning slightly against the wall to his right in a relaxed manner that Lucius had never seen in his old friend. The crowd looked around themselves frantically - some with hope and surprise, others with revulsion.

Thin and raspy as the reply was, it permeated the utter silence of the party guests.

"What - am I late?"

Those in attendance were unsure of what surprised them more: Severus Snape alive and well, or the sound of his laughter as Lucius Malfoy passed out cold at his own party.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Still not mine; no money.

/

Lucius flinched as he woke to the sound of murmuring voices.

"Father?"

The little shit had seen him. He opened his eyes to a handful of worried house elves encircling his bed, all clutching various nursing supplies; some fancy-robed Ministry goon; Molly Weasley, again; his son, standing by at a watchful yet respectable distance; and Severus Snape's giant hawkish abomination of a nose.

"I'm fine, Draco. I merely had a bit of a shock. I imagine most of our guests did as well."

"No one else passed out." If anyone had heard the sigh of relief the boy tried to hide when his father spoke, they said nothing of it. As it were, Lucius' attempts to leave the bed were hampered by the gaggle of nursemaids poking and prodding him.

"Let them run the diagnostic charms, Father. Please."

The pain in his son's voice momentarily winded the senior Malfoy, and he sank back into the soft sheets. Draco had aged so much since the war, and even more so since they'd lost Narcissa. If ruling out any lasting health issues from his fainting at the sight of his should-be-dead friend would appease his son, then he would bear it just as he had done when checking under Draco's bed for Grindylows so many years ago.

He'd apparently become lost in thought, because the rest of the room was staring at him and the Ministry worker was nowhere to be seen. Severus held out a hand to him with a raised eyebrow; he took it and let the taller man help him to his feet, only to be pulled slightly closer and clapped on the back in what, though never documented, must have been Severus Snape's version of a hug.

He might pass out twice. Severus pulled back after the briefest of contacts, and Lucius felt a small bottle press into his hand.

He quickly dismissed the house elves and briefly nodded his thanks at the Matron Weasley, who was conversing with Draco in soft tones about what the healer's analysis meant – which apparently, was that he was fine.

He turned back to Severus and dropped his voice. "Why aren't you dead? Why show up here, now?"

Severus pulled a parchment invitation from his breast pocket with a sneer and flipped it open.

"Why are we all here, Lucius? I was perfectly happy being nonexistent."

Lucius looked at the paper incredulously.

"But you're a _Half-Blood_, Severus. You're very nearly exempt from all this nonsense, if you could just avoid being the target of any offers - which you could have done, if the rest of the Wizarding world thought you were dead as we all did mere moments ago. "

"Ah, but I'm also a _dark, mysterious war hero_," Severus said, "and I shall be made an example of."

As if to make a point, a slightly-shaking house elf popped back into the room.

"The Ministry Marriage Secretary of Matchmaking is telling me to find Master. Master has been declared uninjured several minutes ago and is wanted back at the ball. Master's absence is distracting the guests."

Malfoy looked from the elf back to Snape, opened his mouth, and then shut it again.

"Thank you, Poppins. Please inform the good official that I am on my way."

The elf vanished, and Malfoy rounded on Severus. He took in a deep breath for what would be the most time-effective verbal laceration he could muster, but stopped without finishing so much as a syllable at the strange glint in his friend's eyes. The black eyes that usually hid so much were, with as much emphasis on displaying his annoyance as possible, directing him to look at the parchment still clutched in Snape's hand. Behind him, Draco already clearly had gotten the message.

Lucius looked at the invitation again, then back to Snape. His lips thinned into an even deeper scowl as he shook the parchment in Lucius' direction. He concentrated, and the words began to fade away and reform in Severus' familiar spiky script:

_Not here. Later._

"Draco, please perform some damage control while I freshen up."

Lucius cast a few cleansing charms on himself, and, after Draco left the room, downed the potion Snape had passed him earlier. After five seconds of immense heat that flushed his face and pounded in his ears, he felt wonderful.

"Modified pepper-up," Severus explained. "Shall we?"

/

Draco had indeed managed to ease the worries of the partygoers and get the festivities going; when Lucius peered over the balcony for the second time that night, the dance floor and drink stations were in full swing. He nodded warmly and waved to the guests who noticed him as he observed the crowd, then made a beeline for his target – one of Narcissa's old friends.

Severus Snape had no such luxury. His friends were all dead, male, or McGonagall, and he'd probably verbally eviscerated over half the people in the room. His entrance guaranteed he'd get credit for attending; if he could just slip into the shadows, or one of the rooms in Malfoy Manor not open to the current guests…

"PROFESSOR SNAPE!"

Nothing in Severus Snape's life had prepared him for this.

A blur of unrestrained hair barreled toward him in a clear display of suicidal Gryffindor tendencies, and didn't stop until it slammed into his chest and wrapped its arms around him. Nearby partygoers turned to look. This was it. He'd been a master spy, killed one of the most powerful wizards of all time, and come back from the dead only to have his reputation ruined here, now, by the single most annoying presence he had ever dealt with. And he'd witnessed the "Terrible Twos" of Draco Malfoy.

"Decided to try a career in Muggle rugby instead of Potions, Miss Granger? What a shame…"

_Damnit. _He deepened his sneer and tried to extricate himself from her grasp.

"Mrphrrrmm! Mrr?"

"What? Please refrain from speaking directly into my robes, Miss Granger."

He felt her withdraw slightly to look up at him. Her hair was a mess, but it appeared to be from copious amounts of dancing, drinking, and launching one's self across the room at a person – which could also account for her flushed complexion. Was she… _crying_?

"I said I'm so glad you're alive." She wiped her eyes with her left hand. Definitely crying. "And you think I could have made a career of Potions?"

He looked around for something, anything. Lucius was, of course, casually eavesdropping with a glint in his eye that Severus knew meant he was inwardly laughing his ass off. Draco was _gone_, a flock of recently-graduated girls was silently mocking them both, and weaving through the crowd toward the sound of his name was the gauze-laced, bangle-draped, smoky-eyed horror of his nightmares: Trelawney. With the berth the crowd had started to give her, he had about ten seconds to make a decision.

"Let's get you some fresh air and a calming draught, Miss Granger."

With the slightest touch of his hand on her back, he turned them ever so smoothly away from the incoming Divination professor and toward the back doors that led to the estate's gardens. His hand slid to her elbow and he quickened their pace, half-dragging the girl away from Trelawney's ignored pleas that he wait.

"We wouldn't want you to have a fainting spell like _dear Lucius_," he growled as they passed the host of the party.

A snogging couple jumped slightly as Severus banged the doors open and stepped into the cool night air. Evidently, their romance could not overcome the ardor-dampening sneer of Severus Snape, and they scurried off to find a more private location. He pulled Granger down the less-used garden path that lead to the herb greenhouses, away from the Malfoy's prized roses and other _romantic_ flowers.

"Drink this."

He rolled his eyes as Hermione Granger, ever the over-achiever, sniffed the potion he'd handed her. "A wise decision, but I did not come out of hiding to kill a third of the Golden Trio at the biggest party of the year."

She downed the potion and shook her head slightly. Her sniffling stopped, her shoulders relaxed, and she let out a deep breath.

"Now, explain." His narrowed eyes and Potions Master countenance didn't intimidate her. _The calming draught seems to have worked exceptionally well, at least_. She blinked, and, after a moment, comprehended his question and was able to reply.

"I saw you die." It had to have been the most concise answer she'd ever given to one of his questions – or any question ever, most likely. A pregnant pause grew between them as he waited for her to say more, but she didn't continue.

"Are you _quite_ sure, Miss Granger?" She bit her lip.

"Well, there's the Draught of Living Death, and I suppose you could have made an antivenin with samples from Mr. Weasley's stay at St. Mungos, and might have simply kept blood-replenishing potions, bezoars, and who else knows what on your person out of rightful paranoia. The second you knew he was summoning you apart from the group to a remote location you probably figured out what was going on, or were at least suspicious. "

Snape stood motionless in juxtaposition to her quick, rambling speech. She gestured with her hands, and sometimes her eyes looked somewhere far off in the distance as she recalled the details.

"I mean, we were in a huge hurry so Harry could defeat Voldemort, and we just assumed with Nagini's venom and all the blood loss and your dramatic death scene…" She trailed off, and a look of horror briefly surfaced though the calming draught. "We just _left_ you there… alive. I… I'm… I can't- "

He couldn't take it any longer, especially if she started crying again; dealing with it once was too much for Snape. He'd had his share of homesick first-years sobbing in his office, but this was nothing so easily fixed.

"You had to believe I was dead, Miss Granger. Ironically, it was absolutely paramount to my survival. I wasn't just fooling you three – I was fooling the Dark Lord himself. Potter, too, needed my death and the knowledge it imparted on him to act as both catalyst and ammunition toward the Final Battle."

"But-" She started, but he shook his head. Glancing off to the side, she blurted out several words quickly to get them out without him interrupting. "I'm still sorry."

He studied her for several moments. She truly felt ill at the notion that she had left him to die. The potion had settled her, but she still looked like she'd been through every possible emotion in the last ten minutes. He had to clear the air, lest she bother him with this incessantly for the rest of his days…

"I forgive you, Miss Granger." A weight visibly lifted from her shoulders, before he added, "But what you really should be sorry for is alerting Trelawney to my location. _That_ you'll have to make up for."

She stared at him blankly, then giggled – first softly, then loud and cackling.

"I am _deathly_ serious, Miss Granger."

Her eyes started to well with tears of hysterical laughter. She took deep breaths, but broke back down into giggles after a few seconds each time. He resisted the smile that tried to break through his glare.

"I'm sorry! It's just – you, with the scowling," she said between bouts of laughter, "and the sarcasm, and… you… you're actually _afraid_ of someone! And then… joking! Not dead… afraid of Trelawney… funny… hugged Lucius… what next? "

Snape couldn't hold it I any longer, and the rich baritone of his laughter joined hers. He collected himself much more quickly than she did, however, and slipped back into a dour expression.

"Severus Snape hugs no one. I was simply giving a potion to Lucius in a manner that prohibited Draco from seeing me do so."

"Sure, sure. Who got hugged by a Gryffindor ten minutes ago? You didn't exactly resist." She looked poised to run, but was clearly enjoying teasing him. Surprisingly, he was enjoying bantering with someone other than Minerva or Albus for change.

"Lucius frowns upon me directly hexing guests." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Besides, it got me out of that blasted dance hall."

Hermione's mouth dropped open in mock disgust. "You're using me to _hide_ out here!"

"Well I'm certainly not out here to nick from Lucius' ingredient stores," he said, poking at a wilting plant. "This is the saddest Asphodel I've ever seen. But yes, I've made my little appearance in front of the Ministry lackeys, and intend to avoid detection until such a time that I can leave."

"You mean you're really not here to meet Ministry-deemed-eligible suitors?" Hermione snorted. "Guess I'll have to find another bachelor to sneak off to the greenhouses with, then."

A spark of some unknown emotion flashed behind her eyes, and Severus wondered if he'd let anything slip past his own shields. He'd been fairly lax since they left the crowded hall; she'd seen him "die" and had no doubt heard the details of the memories he'd given to Potter, so why bother?

"Believe it or not, Miss Granger," he said casually, "We might, logically speaking, make a fairly decent "match", assuming you're in the same situation as I'm in – which is damage control, in a sense. Not having to be hitched to an idiot, change lifestyles, move, give up certain principles or goals…"

Hermione scuffed her shoe in the loose greenhouse dirt. "I'll be lucky if I find a match who will "let" me carry on my education, work a real job, and not have thirty children." _Such a waste._

"I did notice your lack of engagement ring and red-haired shadow, which I assume means you turned the Weasley idiot down."

She frowned at his description, but nodded. "I do love Ron – but not romantically, anymore. I will not be an early mother, as much as I can help it, and I certainly will not be a mother _to my husband_. Ick. I don't even want to think about that word right now. What about you?"

"I suppose I have to contend with several different levels of crazy – grudge-holders from both sides of the war, galleon-diggers, fame seekers –"

Severus halted his speech and turned to the right, wand drawn; he lowered it when he fully saw what bounded toward them: a large, lioness patronus. It spoke in Mrs. Weasley's rushed, lowered voice.

"Severus, Hermione, dear – Lucius said you were both still together – you both need to officially declare your interest in a party, NOW. They're letting people sign others up for dates by proxy – no time to explain further! - , and both your names are flying around. Oh, hello there, Helzebah. No, I'm just informing some of the guests out on the lawns that they need to make those dates official –"

The patronus trailed off. Severus and Hermione stared at each other wide-eyed, and then whipped out their invitations. Hermione mumbled the words as she quickly scanned the document for the declaration process.

"While the Ministry cannot enforce mingling, attendees must adhere to the event guidelines to ensure that they complete a measurable amount of progress toward finding their Ministry Sanctioned Match. Please fill out the form below to document your progress. For your convenience, the quick reference for qualifying Matches is printed below; see the colored sheet attached for full Sanction rules, guidelines, tips, and exclusions based on your heritage.

MUGGLE-BORNS

Matches must be Pureblood of Half-blood.

PURE-BLOODS

Matches must be Muggle-born or Half-blood. Matches must not be Squibs. Special care should be taken to ensure Matches are distanced enough from each party's lineage.

HALF-BLOODS

Matches can be Muggle-born, Pureblood, or Half-blood. Matches should not be descendants of the same Pureblood families.

MY MINISTRY MIXER MATCH-DATES

Attendees must attempt to match with at least one other person at each Ministry Mixer event. These "dates" are non-binding.

Please have your date press the tip of his/her wand below. Names and statuses will appear on the sheet for record-keeping and your convenience.

DECLARATION OF INTEREST

If a suitable potential Match is discovered, both attendees must make an official Declaration of Interest to solidify their claim. These Declarations are non-binding in the short term; however, if no additional suitable matches are made by the attendee's Match deadline, the Declaration becomes a legally binding engagement.

Please have your date press the tip of his/her wand below. Names and statuses will appear on the sheet for record-keeping. Potential Matches will be checked against the Ministry database to ensure their eligibility."

Hermione let out an aggravated sigh. "Found the loophole."

"But?"

"It's in favor of the Ministry. The small print about the Declarations: If certain circumstances arise, which are almost all Ministry-initiated, someone can officially snag you as a Declared Interest even if you never "dated" or "matched" them or whatever. Mutual Declared Interests will trump them, though."

She paused briefly to look at her paper. "Ron Weasley" (just trying to help, probably) and "Cormac McLaggen" hovered in questioning red ink on her parchment. "Looks like our Ministry Matchmaker goon has decided we're not playing well enough with others and declared open season."

"Yours cannot possibly be worse than mine." Severus held his sheet out to show her the dozen or so names, including Trelawney and Rita Skeeter (looking for an inside scoop, undoubtedly). As they scowled at their lists, the names began to slowly fade from the original red to a more acceptant greenish hue. Snape snatched Hermione's form from her hand and shoved his own at her.

"There's no time." He grimaced as he pressed the tip of his wand to the "Declared Interests" section on her parchment. A brief look of hesitation crossed her features before they settled on nauseated, and she did the same.

"Are we really doing this?"

Severus stared down as his parchment, his hair obscuring any peek Hermione might try to take at his expression. Her name shone a rich, Slytherin green.

"Miss Granger, I would rather listen to your insufferable and inane questioning for the rest of my life than spend five minutes in the company of most of these women." The parchment crumpled as he shook it angrily. "As long as we're careful, we should be able to go through the motions to fulfill the Ministry's terms as we... pursue other interests."

"And if we don't find one?"

"Well, Miss Granger," he said silkily, as he turned back toward the Manor, "that's a risk I'm willing to take."

Not being engaged to Severus Snape should be the ultimate motivation for a brilliant young witch to find a way to get around – or destroy – this horrible law.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: J.K.'s stuff & things. No money or Snapey for me.

/

"'Mione… how _could_ you? He's twice your age! And _Snape_!"

Hermione was infinitely glad she'd had this discussion in the privacy of her own silence-charmed home. She sighed and leaned back into the plushness of her sofa.

"Ronald, you're missing the point." Ron Weasley no more than opened his mouth to reply before snapping it shut again as he was cut off. Silently fuming, he gestured for her to get on with it as he paced around the room.

"I'm not actually marrying Snape. I'm not actually marrying _anyone_ that someone else tells me to marry."

"But it's the law. They'll snap your wand." He stopped pacing, and his dumbfounded expression only fueled her ire. "You can't leave us, Hermione. Come on. I could make it work!"

"Did we free ourselves from Voldemort only to be oppressed by the Ministry? Their scare tactics might work better if they'd ever protected us from him in the first place. I won't do it. Not in the name of repopulation, or political correctness, or lower Squib ratios. If you think people were annoyed by S.P.E.W., they'll sure hate what I've got in mind next."

"What, P.E.T.S: People for the Ethical Treatment of Snape?" Ron's grin faded from his face after a few seconds, and he returned to a more serious tone. "Don't you think you're getting a little carried away with this? It's not even that bad. You still get to pick, you just have a little bit smaller pool of eligible bachelors to choose from."

"Don't you ever read between the lines, Ronald? The fine print? The endgame? Soon they'll be telling us what job, broom, and children we'll have. But seriously – did you read all the Marriage Law documentation?"

To his credit, the youngest male Weasley flushed. "Um. Well, I read most of it. The important bits… Percy explained it, but I figured I'd just be marrying you anyway and I knew you qualified for me, and…"

"Okay, Ron. There's a lot of little loopholes and caveats, but the gist of what you need to immediately know is this: If you don't choose, or your choice doesn't "match", someone else ultimately chooses for you."

Ron sank into her beaten-up armchair and ran a hand through his red hair, which stood up like flames shooting from his shell-shocked face. Years of Hermione's studying, advice, and homework help, coupled with her textbook-regurgitating memory and record NEWT scores, left no doubt in Ron's mind that she might have simply misunderstood the information.

"So I need to-"

"Find someone eligible that you don't hate – preferably someone with similar life plans to yours – and make a Declaration of Interest as a last resort. Then keep looking while you help us break this thing."

"Us?"

He took the piece of metal she held out to him – one of the old charmed coins from their DA days.

"I'll fill you in when I know more – and after I have a certain experienced party sweep the house for additional ears." Ron nodded. "Just in case. Not that I'm not already careful, but-"

"I know, 'Mione." He pulled her into a trademark Weasley hug – the best of hugs – and gave her hand a squeeze as he pulled back.

"You know, it's gonna be kinda nice fighting the system again. For old times' sakes. I mean, I wish we didn't have to, and the stakes are high, but… we beat You-Know-Who, you know?"

His head was bowed as he walked to the fireplace, but the corner of a grin poked out as he took his pinch of Floo powder.

"The Burrow!"

The flames shifted to green, and he turned briefly before disappearing into the fire.

"So Snape's coming over to inspect your security? Is that what they're calling it, these days?"

"You cheeky little-"

She had half a mind to Floo-call back and tell Mrs. Weasley.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Wow! Thank you for all the favorites, follows, and reviews! I'd also like to thank my beta, Ozma914. Go check his fanfic/orginal fic out if you have a chance. Any mistakes you see are probably my tinkering with it afterward.

Disclaimer: Not mine, no money.

/\\/

"Good God Granger, there _is_ a monster under here."

Severus raised himself up from Hermione Granger's bedroom floor only to be hit squarely in the face, for the first time in his life, with a pillow. His expression slipped from the half-amused, half-annoyed mixture it had been to one of seriousness again.

"Your home is… _currently_… free from surveillance charms and other malicious spellwork." He held up a finger at her look of relief. "However, you should relocate as quickly as possible."

Hermione's brows knotted in confusion. "What? Why?"

Severus pinched the bridge of nose and scrunched up his eyes. "Do you want my advice or not, Miss Granger? You did, in fact, ask for it."

"I did," she said. "And I trust your judgment. I'd just like to know why."

"Insufferable know-it-all." He let out a huff and crossed the room to peer out the window overlooking the street, but answered her question anyway. "You _will_ be targeted, as soon as those forms we signed reach their destinations."

"Due to its location," Severus said, launching into professor mode, "primarily the high population and surrounding businesses, which provide constant foot traffic, this residence cannot be completely secured from the vast resources the Ministry has at their disposal. The orientation of the windows to the evening sun creates a perfect hiding spot for lurkers, as do the untamed hedges. The overall shortness of the home and lack of trees makes for more open front and side yards, which indicates that your owl post could more easily be tracked, along with visitors by broom or other non-apparition means."

He stopped to stare out the window.

"Is there anything else?" Hermione asked.

"No." Severus waved his hand in the air in dismissal. "In actual fact, I could ward this place to within an inch of its life and they could simply walk right through the door with an order from the Minister. Or contrive a reason on the spot to make a forcible entry."

"Oh." Hermione paused briefly. "Then why the long explanation? And don't tell me I asked for it."

"Several reasons. Firstly, if I recall correctly you submitted no less than an extra _foot_ of parchment on each and every essay you submitted in my classes. Secondly, and most importantly, I dislike this neighborhood."

After nearly a full minute of utter silence, Snape turned from the window to look at Hermione, no longer able to ignore the burning feeling that the back of his head was being glared at. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Why do you care?"

Severus sneered at her. "If I am to collect my _companion_ here to go on our _dates_, and subsequently _stay the night_, I _do_ care about the pitiful lack of decent restaurants, leash laws, and public apparition points."

Hermione's face looked like she had sucked on a lemon, but was amused by it. She was trying to hold in her laughter as well as keep her scowl in place, all while thinking his concerns were quite thoughtful… at least for his personality.

"How _romantic_," she finally said. _Fake stay-the-night?!_

"Furthermore, your neighbor's Chihuahua appears to be half hell-hound."

"Point taken. I should move immediately; how do you feel about taking _the next step_? Fair warning: I snore and love to redecorate."

The look of abject horror on Snape's face was well worth whatever retaliation he had planned. It was gone in a flash, and Hermione already missed the playful banter she knew wasn't going to happen as he slipped back into a more professional, war-spy tone.

"In all seriousness, Miss Granger, you need to move somewhere that the Ministry cannot easily find you, or cannot normally access."

"Like Hogwarts."

"Precisely." Snape raised his hand to his brow. "I don't suppose you happen to hold a position there."

Hermione exited the bedroom to enter her equally small living room. Severus found her pacing from the couch to the kitchenette and back, tugged at her hair and muttering under her breath.

"This isn't happening. This is NOT happening." She let out a growl that sounded suspiciously like it had been uttered by her late half-kneazle, Crookshanks. "I turned down that job. Turned it down! Great job, Hermione!"

Suddenly Hermione shook, first lightly but with increasing in pressure. Then pain shot through her cheeks briefly in small, targeted pressure points that felt slightly rough on her skin. Blurry shapes slowly refocused as she concentrated on the contrasting black and whitish splotches in front of her. Finally, her eyes snapped fully open and stared into the dark, dangerous eyes of Severus Snape.

"Granger!" he barked, "Are you with me? Answer me, witch!"

She nodded numbly, and his hand relaxed its hold from her face and dropped back to her other arm. She found herself being (mostly) gently guided to and plopped down on her soft, cushy couch. A soft _pop_, then a light _splash_ echoed in the otherwise silent room, and the couch sagged with a squeak to her right.

"Drink." Large, cool hands encircled hers and pressed a warm cup into them. One hand supported hers as she raised the cup to her mouth, while the other long arm moved to rest against the back of the couch. After a few sips of perfectly brewed tea she shook her head from side to side, gulped the rest of the liquid down, and ran a hand over her flushing face.

"Modified pepper-up. The bergamot in the Earl Grey helps cut the bitter taste."

"Thank you."

"Don't worry; I tested it on Lucius first." _Of course he'd avoid taking credit for doing something nice._

She leaned back into the couch. His arm tensed, but stayed put. "Sorry for –"

"Hush." He waved a hand and the same pop from before carried in a house elf. Hermione brought a hand to her mouth. The creature, tiny even by elf standards, stood proud and as tall as it could get with its small stature. It was clothed in rich emerald and black linens or towels that bore an elegant, understated Prince family crest; they had clearly been made with care to look like wizarding robes but still be intrinsically "not clothes", though Hermione couldn't tell what they had been altered from. Snape spoke in low tones to the elf, who bowed to Hermione with a soft, "Miss," and headed off down her hallway.

"Come, Miss Granger." Severus rose from the couch. "We are going… out. Wulfric will collect any personal effects you may need."

Hermione stood slowly, both because she was still slightly shaky and to study the man more closely. Her eyes darted between his, which displayed merely a vast, empty nothingness. She looked back toward her bedroom, where an already full bag levitated outside the door. Her eyes drifted back to Snape.

"Why?"

Severus took a step closer and held his arm out to Hermione. With a sigh, and the knowledge that even if she felt up to it, she had no way of apparating to this mystery location, she stubbornly took his arm. He was more muscular (wiry or toned, more like) than she'd expected, and had a faint pleasant smell of potions ingredients (white sage and moly, most noticeably), parchment, and an earthy tone. Before he whisked them away, he leaned in to speak with a quiet, warm breath in her ear.

"Because I too was a servant, Hermione."


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Any mistakes you see should be blamed on my tinkering after Ozma914 sends it back.

_/\\/_

_Last time: "Come, Miss Granger." Severus rose from the couch. "We are going… out. Wulfric will collect any personal effects you may need."_

They landed in a small, circular clearing ringed by woods. Severus immediately stepped away from Hermione, but waited - almost patiently, for him - as she adjusted to her surroundings. She took in the large, old trees that brimmed with squirrels and contented birdsong, the mossy rocks and mushrooms below, and the smattering of flowers in the wild-growing grassy area around where they stood. A rough trail led out of the woods to what looked like an abandoned, decrepit shack in the distance.

"We're not actually 'going out', are we?"

"No, we are not." Severus stood from where he had been stooping, now carrying a bundle of echinacea. Boy, was she relieved. Bastard Snape was a familiar force she could deal with; spontaneous date night Snape was terrifying.

Without so much as a pause, he started across the clearing toward the path, and Hermione had to nearly jog to catch up with his long strides. He was silent. She mused that only Snape could look so intimidating with a handful of freshly picked flowers. When they reached the edge of the woods, he stopped and raised his wand between them.

"Touch the tip of your wand to mine."

When their wands met, a dim white ball of light shone where they joined before fading slowly away. Severus quirked an eyebrow toward the shack, and Hermione followed his gaze.

Where the decaying wooden structure had been now stood a small but elegant home. _Scratch that: Estate._ The house was flanked by a well-tended flower garden and a moderately-sized greenhouse, and a barn sat a bit farther off. Though it wasn't a grand, peacock-ridden affair like the Malfoy manor she'd recently visited, Hermione appreciated the cool, sophisticated simplicity of the estate's grounds. It looked rather cozy, but that wasn't quite the right word…

The feeling of eyes on her broke Hermione's study of the new scene before her. Snape was staring at her with a little smirk – a smirk that suggested he was reveling in the fact that he had knowledge that she didn't, and knew how much that would annoy her. The shimmer in his eyes was like a more sinister version of Dumbledore's twinkling. She should probably never tell _him_ that.

"Welcome to the Prince estate, Miss Granger."

He strode off toward the front door immediately with his head held gloatingly high. She hadn't even known there _was_ a Prince estate; she thought any wealth or stature available had have been lost by Snape's useless excuse of a father.

He entered and, since he left the massive door standing open behind him, she assumed he intended for her to accompany him. The entryway was a small mudroom that opened into a short hallway lined with portraits of the Prince ancestors. She followed the echoing clip of his boots (which _had_ to be on purpose, judging by the amount of times he'd snuck up on her, Harry, and Ron) down the hall and into what she presumed was the main living area on the left. Snape stood near the fireplace; he must have seen her eyeing the bare tables and pristine sofa, because he offered an explanation.

"As you are aware of my ... extracurricular activities... during the war, it should come as no surprise that I hold several residences which I used as decoys, safehouses, and for other... excruciatingly specific purposes."

She nodded uncomfortably, but was still curious all the same. If he was going to spill the proverbial beans, she wasn't about to risk interrupting him.

"Naturally, the Prince estate had to remain a secret at all costs. You're the first to know of it since I hid it away. I'm sure the Ministry will be honing in on some of the other properties - especially the decoy ones - but this one will be safe."

He lowered himself into a leather armchair next to the fireplace.

"Come on Granger, you must have figured this out by now."

Hermione let out a sigh and dropped onto the couch that faced him; it might look nicer, but she'd take her beat-up but soft and squishy one any day. Oh, she'd figure it out all right. Suddenly whisking her to an undisclosed location that happens to be very private to him, changing the subject, talking about safety and the Ministry, getting her an overnight bag…

"Is Wulfric getting all my things, or just the necessities? I mean I'm glad for the rescue and everything, but I'm a creature of habit... and I had some first editions in there."

Severus snorted. It was a foreign, utterly ridiculous sound that nearly startled Hermione off the couch. "Miss Granger, do not delude yourself into thinking I'm some kind of knight in shining armor. This is mutually beneficial arrangement - no matter what _Potter_ told the press, I am not the tragic hero he believes me to be."

Hermione sat there for a few moments, just blinking at him. How could he think that, after all he'd done and sacrificed for them? For her, Harry, and Ron in particular? Maybe this wasn't the best time to talk about it - but there would never be a good time to try to convince Snape he was wrong.

"Don't." He cut her off as soon as she opened her mouth. The ice in his voice seemed to palpably drop the temperature in the room.

"Okay." She steeled herself with a deep breath. "Let's just talk about what's happening now, then. Tell me the plan."

"The plan was to get you far from the prying eyes and ears infiltrating your house. I didn't expect to actually _find_ anything when you asked me to check. I improvised."

"And?"

"Welcome to your new home, Miss Granger. This moves up my timetable significantly. A planning meeting was necessary anyway, but time is now urgent. We'll have to figure out our courses of action, both real and acted, _soon_… perhaps in the morning after we've had some sleep."

"Wulfric has the majority of your things. He'll already have set out anything you may need immediately. He'll be integrating the rest your things into the house – with your input – over the next few days, along with what I chose to move here. He'll be working on making the place completely rehabitable over the coming days, as it's been kept up but not lived in. He has a knack for housekeeping, taste, and human nature. Your things are safe with him - especially the books. He's quite the voracious reader."

He obviously just wanted her to go to bed, but she couldn't _not_ ask. "You mean - you let your house elves read? Isn't that...frowned upon, or something?"

"It might surprise you to know that I genuinely don't care if others frown upon me. _I am the one who frowns_. At any rate, yes, I do let my house elf - singular - read. He has occasionally helped me with potions, as well, though one has to be careful about interactions with latent house elf magic."

Her eyes must have betrayed her elation, because he cut her off again as soon as she opened her mouth. She scooted back from, unknowingly, having moved to the edge of her seat.

"Your efforts for house elf welfare - oh yes, Miss Granger, they were brought up during several staff meetings - while carried out in the wrong manner, were quite admirable; however, I neither want to hear more details nor be the subject of one of your crusades."

She laughed softly, and Severus quirked an eyebrow. "Ron asked if I was going to start P.E.T.S. - people for the ethical treatment of Snape."

"Tsk,tsk. I personally would have gone with P.I.S.S. - People in Support of Snape."

Hermione laughed so suddenly and forcefully that it came out as an odd half-giggle half-bark of laughter. As much as he tried to convince her he was still the Greasy Git, he kept crossing the line from sarcasm into actual humor. It was quite funny when he wasn't mocking _you_. If she could convince Ron this conversation actually happened, he'd probably have a heart attack.

"Subtitle: O .F.F. – an Organization for Fairness."

Her laughter this time, however, was cut short with a yawn. Sunlight no longer shone through the light curtains, but there wasn't a clock in the rooms she could see.

"While this conversation has been ... enlightening... for the both of us, it would appear that you are in need of a bed."

He stood up from his chair with less grace than his movements usually had and Hermione wondered if it was just the tiredness of a busy day, or the after effects of war. She'd been lucky - if you could call it that - that most of her lasting physical injuries were only superficial scars.

He led them out of the living room into a mid-sized dining area with a rich cherry wood table and chairs. It connected to a small kitchen, which she didn't see much of as Snape pointed at it on their way down the adjacent hallway. They passed several doors that he made no mention of, but as they neared the end of the hallway he pointed to a door on the right side.

"I have taken the liberty of giving you this room, but you may choose another if you wish. It is the nicest of the guest rooms as well as the closest to the Master Suite," he said with a gesture toward the last door at the end of the hall, "if you should need to speak to me for some reason. Wulfric will have probably put your toiletries in the lavatory connected to this room as well as stocked it with guest linens and peculiarly shaped soaps."

He opened the door for her to inspect the room, and she let out a tiny gasp as she walked in. The room was done up in soothing neutral colors: plush cream bed linens and carpet, pale grey curtains, beige accents, and hues of natural wood in the dresser and massive four post bed. A peek into the bathroom revealed more cream mixed with soft lavender elements, including the flowers themselves.

Hermione toed off her shoes and then sank into the soft, almost obscenely fluffy duvet. She half moaned, half groaned as her muscles began to finally relax.

Snape looked ... Well, like Snape normally looked: aloof and a little awkward and annoyed... for a few seconds, then spoke again.

"As a resident of the house under special circumstances, Wulfric is available to you and you may call in him as you see fit. I shall endeavor to bring you up to speed in the morning. If you require me before then, knock first unless you wished to be hexed into oblivion."

"I can see the headlines now: Snape kills faux-fiancé when surprised in bedroom".

"If you're done muttering nonsense into my pillows, I'll take my leave."

"And if I'm not?" _What was she, drunk?_

"Then I'll take my leave anyway, but with silencing measures in place."

"Oh. Good then. I mean, you're a good knight then. Crap. I mean, good night, then."

He cast a _nox_ and all that was left of him was a tall, lanky shadow backlit by light from outside the bedroom door. Hermione thought she heard a soft "Good night" as he closed the door, but had no idea if she dreamed it or not.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Thanks for the follows/reviews! Also thanks to Ozma914 for looking things over for me.

Disclaimer: Not mine, no money. Any errors are mine. Some misc. details (throughout story) from Pottermore; others from random, definitely non-canon recesses of my brain.

/\\/

Fred and George Weasley were calling it the second greatest prank of all time.

In an attempt to avoid printing _real_ news, the Daily Prophet had plastered Rita Skeeter's exposé across its front page. The Snape-spurned woman had left no allegation unmade in her article not about the Potion Master's return to the realm of the living, but of his sordid romance with former student Hermione Granger. The only decent source for news these days (as well as the mating rituals of Wrackspurts) was in The Quibbler, recently taken over by Luna Lovegood.

In public, the Messrs Weasley made light of the situation by making cauldron-stirring innuendos, coming up with a "Points to Gryffindor" chart based on marital favors, and presenting Hermione with a new Gryffindor house uniform for "detention". In private, they vowed their full creative support to the resistance movement… and still made horrid detention jokes.

"Professor Snape is _livid_," Hermione said in one such secretive meeting. She plopped a now-unshrunken box onto the slightly dingy table in the currently un-booked private room Aberforth had allowed them to use. Fred and George's faces lit up.

"Really?" said Fred.

"How can you tell?" said George.

Hermione couldn't get a word in between their twin-dialog.

"I bet under his normal scowl is a super-scowl, reserved only for Harry, Valentine's Day, and having awful front-page newspaper photos." Fred held up the paper in question, which flashed a repeating scene of Snape leading Hermione out of the Ministry Mixer above the fold, and a blurry one of him entering her house below it.

"No, I bet when he's _really_ angry he _smiles_." George said with a mild shudder as he pictured the man. "This evil, twisted grin that kind of morphs out of those sneers he always-"

George turned toward a suspicious cough from the other side of the room. They'd agreed on staggered arrival and departure times (as well as some other anti-detection tricks) for those showing up for the meeting, and Ron had entered the room at some point during the twins' speculation. The younger Weasley had his hand to his mouth to cover the cough, but his eyes were gesturing wildly to his right, where Severus Snape stood with a grin to rival the Cheshire Cat himself. After a brief moment it slid back into his usual sneer.

"For the record," he drawled, "When I'm fully enraged… You. Will. _Know_."

/\\/\\/

The meeting, though relatively short and small to stay under the Ministry radar, went well. Hermione had arranged for a representative of sorts from each family, household, or group to attend and relay information and supplies. Fred and George would work with Percy, along with the trusted lawyer they used in their joke shop endeavors, to comb over the full text of the new marriage law and any subsequent documents. They were also in charge of contacting Charlie and Bill. Ron would be working on strategy, as well as keeping his parents, Ginny, and Harry – who hadn't been able to dive out of a Ministry event on this night – in the loop. Draco and his father were actively putting out feelers for support in their social circles. Luna's now-retired father was supplementing the Quibbler with a travelog of his search for undocumented magical creatures; he was also conveniently gathering information and support outside of the group's normal radius.

Severus… well, what Severus Snape did for the cause, he wasn't quite at liberty to say, at least not yet. He would not explain his time underground, nor would he answer probing questions about the claims made in the paper, his supposed death, or who, if anyone, had known he'd been alive. His knowledge of recent and relevant happenings in the wizarding world implied that he at least had an informant, alias, or owl delivery. Those in the room knew why he'd been at Hermione's place; they didn't (at least yet) need to know about the Prince estate and that she was currently staying there instead.

Hermione eyed the man as those in attendance packed up their things after the meeting and began to drift away to depart. On the surface, he had not changed much since his time as the dour Professor Snape she knew and defended, even though he was an ass. He was still snarky, grumpy, spiteful, and otherwise anti-social. He still wore mostly black robes with an amount of buttons no sane person could possibly force themselves to undo each time they went to the loo. He even still had the ability for both stealth and commanding the complete attention of those around him, and his entrances and exits were no less striking even without his bat-like billowing cloak.

Beneath the prickly outer layer, however, Hermione noticed discrepancies. His hair was less greasy, as if the laboratory he used now had decent ventilation. He had taken to always wearing something around his neck – a cravat, high collar, or house scarf, even – to no doubt cover and protect his scar from Nagini. His insults were a bit less biting and bit more humorous (in a dark way) or in jest. He seemed to have relaxed, if only just the tiniest fraction.

"Miss Granger, kindly refrain from ogling my person until our wedding night."

Every soul in the room, including the resident mice and insects, became impossibly silent and still. The fact that he'd said it in his familiar, condescending tone made it somehow better and worse at the same time. Fred and George were the first to crack the silence, and the rest of the room soon dissolved into surprised laughter.

"I tried to tell you all he was secretly funny under all the snark, but did anybody listen? Of course not," Draco piped in. Hermione attempted in vain to hide her blush by shrugging on her coat and scarf, and then double checking her shrunken possessions. She wisely decided to shelve her analysis for the time being; she was not only thoroughly embarrassed, but also clearly needed more data. She knew he and McGonagall had a bit of friendly rivalry banter…

"Granger!"

She spun back around to face an annoyed Snape standing slightly in front of the rest of the attendees.

"Your diversion plan? Let's go." He held out his arm to her, and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow when she took it.

"Draco. You're up." The Malfoy heir approached the odd pair, wand raised. With a few precise swishes and flicks, he added a few wrinkles to each of their robes, more frizz into Hermione's hair, and the slightest bit of flowery, girlish scent to hover about Snape's clothes.

"Good." Immediately, as if to avoid losing his nerve, he started toward the stairwell to the tavern's ground floor. As he and Hermione launched into their predetermined conversation about the proper uses for Flobberworm mucus as a potion thickener, they heard the faint sound of George asking, "Can we be the ones to make the fake hickeys and love-bites? There's got to be a market in that, I'm just saying…"

Together the two weren't exactly subtle, and soon garnered the attention they planned for on their way out the door. As Hermione laughed softly and looked up at her "date", she tried to ignore the niggling feeling that it really wasn't that much of a chore being Snape's fake girlfriend. Any photos that may have been taken for the press, however, would have captured what was in fact a genuine smile.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make nothing.

/\\/

It was quite late when they returned to Snape's house – late enough that they'd both utterly lost it when Wulfric grumpily appeared at the front door in his "not a sleeping cap" and "not pajamas" to let them in.

/\/\

Hermione realized that night how much she missed the rush of her old adventures with Harry and Ron. The planning let her flex a part of her brain that hadn't been fully utilized since the end of the war, and the more action-involved bits rekindled that streak of Gryffindor bravery that she hadn't had to summon for a real threat (as opposed to job interviews and bra shopping) for some time.

After their exit she and Snape had, admittedly, gotten a bit carried away. They'd already planned to apparate to Spinner's End first and take additional precautions to avoid tipping anyone off to where they were actually living. Snape suggested they hit a few extra places on the way to keep the ruse going; he was clearly relishing toying with the press and whoever else was looking. They did a few mundane things (grabbing wormwood for Severus' ingredient stores, picking up books) as well as hitting some date-like venues: getting the late, great Fortescue's ice cream for Hermione (Severus Snape did not lick ice cream cones, especially not in public) and drinks at a dive bar in Knockturn Alley (Severus Snape _did_ take shots of questionably potent liquor in public, apparently, and held them well).

The real trouble started when Hermione proposed that going to a Muggle location would round out the night, as well as make their little entourage smaller and much more uncomfortable. Plus, they could relax – if only a little – since not everyone in the place would recognize them or care. She secretly wondered if she could get Snape drunk enough to dance, or, Merlin forbid, do Karaoke. _As if I'd live to tell that tale_.

They transfigured their clothes outside a large-windowed shop before heading into any Muggle-frequented areas. Snape, of course, had changed his robes into a close Muggle duplicate: black tailored suit, black shirt, black tie, black shoes. Hermione rolled her eyes and raised her wand at him.

"It's a bar, not a funeral." Buzzed-Hermione apparently had a little more chutzpah.

He'd lost the tie and suit jacket. His shoes had been swapped for something a little less formal and little more like his usual dragonhide boots. His shirt was still tailored, but was now a dark charcoal grey and tucked into his pants behind a black leather belt with a silver snake buckle. Hermione reached up to undo the top few buttons on the shirt, and cast a glamor over the scar on his neck.

"There." _I invaded his personal space and he didn't hex me immediately. This could work._

He looked at his reflection in the glass, sneered, and gave a small nod. When he saw Hermione's reflection change, he did a double take to her person behind him.

Buzzed-Hermione was also either confident in her sexuality, or a little more slutty.

She'd opted for a dress to more logically pair with Snape's button-up and slacks. She planned the deep emerald green material, but the rest of the transfiguration was a little _off_: the length was shorter, the fabric tighter, and the cleavage deeper. She concentrated and cast another spell, but the dress just hitched another inch up her thigh. She blushed.

"Granger, even _I_ realize your shoes look ridiculous." Thank goodness he was focusing on the unchanged trainers instead of the rest of the hot mess.

"Yeah, well… one more drunk transfiguration and I'll splinch myself. What do _you_ suggest?"

Snape met her eyes in the reflection on the glass and raised his arm. Without turning around, he flicked his wand back at her feet. She peeked down to see black thigh-high boots with a relatively short heel. _Does he like these? Do I like these? At least they aren't some type of impossibly dimensioned stilettos. Did Snape just pick out my shoes?_

Her heels clacked against the pavement as she took a step toward him. He made a larger than necessary gesture of holding out his arm for her, and she soon figured out why; the second her arm was tucked into his they apparated away.

They resurfaced in a dark alley a block or so from the Muggle bar. Hermione, already shaky from the surprise apparition, stumbled forward as she moved to shake her finger at him. His arms were around her in a fraction of a second, and she bumped softly into his chest.

"Oh." He smelled faintly of herbs, Firewhiskey, and the scent Draco had put on him for show earlier. She wasn't surprised at how quickly he caught her – spy reflexes and all – but she _was _surprised at how gently he went about it. Well, she was alittle surprised and flattered he'd caught her at all, to be honest. She realized his hands still kept the lightest ghost of a touch on her arms at about the same time she realized she was still leaning her forehead against his chest.

Details were fuzzy. She'd led him by the arm into the building, where she was pleasantly amused to discover that Snape had a certain lack of knowledge about Muggle liquor (she didn't press the _why_, as it probably had something to do with getting his Dark Mark before he was able to legally enter a Muggle pub). She vowed to teach him all she knew about getting non-magically plastered, and he agreed to listen simply so she'd stop her "insufferable know-it-all-ism". No matter what else happened – with the Ministry, marriages, rebellions, Ron… - she would always treasure the memory of Severus Snape sucking down a jello-shot and asking her if she was quite sure she hadn't charmed it to jiggle all the way down.

"Youhavetodancewithme."

"_What_?" She could hear the danger in his voice; she half expected he was about to give her detention or take house points out of habit.

"Look, I'll owe you big time, but you have to dance with me _right now_. _Please_."

"Explain." _Great, you're going to beg him to be within easy strangling distance right after pissing him off._

"Todd. Muggle ex-boyfriend. Coming this way."

"Sure you wouldn't rather me play the part of your father, uncle perhaps?"

His gaze was intense. Todd's stupid gelled brown hair was weaving through the crowd more quickly that she'd anticipated. It was a risk, but she'd have to tell Snape. Maybe if she half-mumbled, he wouldn't hear her correctly?

She spilled, grabbed his arm, and practically dragged him out to the dance floor. The music faded into a slower song and she put her arms around his neck, keeping a tasteful amount of room between them. He put his hands lightly on her waist, then leaned in close to her ear.

"Now, Miss Granger," he purred, "You must tell me what you _actually_ said that you thought would convince me to –"

Snape scowled as someone lightly bumped into him. The song playing must have been a popular one, because the dance floor kept getting more and more packed. Hermione closed some of the distance between them to give herself distance from the other people. Unfortunately, that space was soon filled with average, typical first-boyfriend-material Todd.

"Hermione?" Todd practically yelled, though he was probably a foot from them. The music wasn't _that _loud.

"I can't believe you used your real name. Tsk tsk, Miss Granger," Snape whispered in her ear. He tugged her a little closer.

"Oh, hi, Todd!" she said. "I didn't see you over there. How have you been?"

"Probably pining after _the one that got away_," Snape suggested. Todd was talking, but she wasn't hearing any of it, just the deep, rumbling tones in her ear.

"I've been okay, I guess," Todd said. His eyes widened as Snape straightened from where he'd been leaning into Hermione.

"Oh. My. God."

Hermione winced. _He's a Muggle, I said. If he's into this whole confessing fantasies thing, why not share, I said. It'll never get back to Snape, I said. I can describe him since they'll never actually meet, I said. _Here it came…

"I can't believe it. I can't _believe_ it. You really did it… you really got with old tall dark and teacher what's-his-face!"

Hermione removed one of her hands from Snape's shoulder and planted it on her own face.

"I mean, everybody has that high school crush, but… I didn't expect you to actually _act_ on it."

Unfortunately for Todd, Severus Snape was just as intimidating in the Muggle world, sans wand, tipsy, and dancing in a bar.

"I'll just leave you two to it, then…" Todd said awkwardly. "I, um… congrats, Hermione."

Hermione peeked out from between her fingers. Todd had disappeared into the crowd, and Snape was staring back at her. The most ridiculous expression lit up his face: half total disbelief and surprise, half amusement.

"Well, well, well." He gently pulled her hand back toward him and snaked his other arm a little tighter around her. "So tell me all about this supposed infatuation with me, _Miss_ Granger…"

Hermione blushed so hard she looked like a Christmas tree with her green dress and red face. She looked everywhere but directly at Snape, and her mouth opened and closed a minute fraction every few seconds like some sort of drunken, confused goldfish. Finally, her eyes landed on his.

"I figured out… things… before the rest of the school or my friends or even the Order did," she said. "You were always so…"

"Pale? Rude? Greasy?" He let out a disdainful laugh. She looked down and blushed again.

"I was going to say… dramatic. Dangerous. Witty, when your insults were directed at someone else. Precise… elegant when you were cutting ingredients or casting spells. When you kicked Lockhart's ass in the first wizarding duel I'd ever seen-"

"To be fair, a pixie could have – and did – also kick his ass that year."

People around them were moving; slowly, like petulant children being told to go to bed, the bar-goers were all heading toward the exit. Last call. That explained the rush of people wanting to dance the song or two before. Hermione moved to drop her arms from Snape, but halted when his hand clasped around her wrist. There was something unreadable – fiery, intense, and unknown – behind his gaze as he searched her eyes.

"Hermione," he said. "Do. You. Still?"

"I…" She glanced around. They were nearly the only people still this far inside the bar. "I thought you were dead, we all thought you were dead, for so long…"

"_Answer. Me_."

"Maybe." She looked at him fully again. "You still have all the qualities I admired then. My brain is having a hard time processing all these changes, though: the new laws, you alive, us being contracted, everything else."

He nodded slowly and lowered her arm between them, but didn't release her. His hand slid down to hers.

"Perhaps I should ask you when you're less… intoxicated."

"Yes." She looked up at him brightly. "Do that."

The awkwardness of the moment broke as they left the bar. The trip home was bit of a blur until they wound up on the doorstep of the Prince estate at 4 a.m., unable to drop the wards and laughing at Wulfric's little napkin stocking cap.

/\/\

Now they were settled in the living room with bland tea and the silence that comes from an empty house on a dark night in the middle of nowhere. Wulfric popped back in with some Sobering Draughts and an Anti-Nausea potion only to find two softly snoring humans passed out cold on the couch. He cursed softly as he returned to the storeroom to get hangover potions instead, but a wide elf smile belied his thoughts. He levitated pillows, blankets, and bodies for maximum comfort… and hilariousness… and left the phials on the coffee table.

One thing was for certain: he'd never been bored being Severus Snape's house elf, and his quiet life post spy-retirement was only getting more interesting.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Thanks to ozma914 and everyone who has reviewed/followed/favorited. :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing, J.K. is awesome.

/\\/

Hermione awoke to the feeling of her entire brain exploding from the catastrophic amount of sound and light pressing in on her from all sides. She was warm, at least, and for some reason her mouth tasted minty fresh instead of like morning breath. She cracked open an eye – which was clearly a mistake – and closed it again with a hiss, then pulled the blanket over her head and snuggled down into the dark, protective cocoon of the couch.

Funny, the couch was oddly uncomfortable today. And the blanket was fuzzier. And smelled like Snape.

Snape.

_Snape_.

If she hadn't been petrified out of fear and massive head pain, she would have flailed up into the air in a flurry of disoriented limbs like Crookshanks used to do when her alarm charm went off. On this morning, though, she stuck with opening her eyes in the tiniest of increments as she adjusted. She was staying with Snape. This was his… their… whatever… living room and she was on his sub-par couch with an insane amount of pillows, under his surprisingly fuzzy and heavy blanket. Several potions were sitting on the table, which meant he was already awake and had been kind enough to leave her out some hangover remedy, though he'd probably mock her for it later. She stretched her hand out toward the phials on the table, bracing herself with her toes against the couch…

And froze when the couch moved. She thanked every known deity that she hadn't screamed, which she was sure would have actually split her head apart.

The couch was hard because it wasn't all couch. Part of it was Snape, who apparently had been hiding some surprisingly toned muscles under all those layers of clothes.

Had they… ? _No_.

Well, how they got there didn't matter right this second. There was no way in hell she'd sneak out of a room with Snape in it, much less sneak away while lying next to, on, and/or under him. They seemed to be half spooning and half laying on each other; his arm was a heavy weight against the blanket that covered her, but she clearly had one of his legs pinned. She carefully stretched her hand out toward the hangover potion again…

"Please Granger, like I haven't been awake the last ten minutes watching you squirm."

…and promptly fell off the couch. Or at least she would have, if Snape's arm hadn't grabbed her around the waist and pulled her against him. _Damn blanket. What?_

"How did we get here, witch?" he asked in her ear. His voice was soft and throaty and a little raw. It came in warm little puffs against her neck.

"I don't know. I certainly don't _remember_ lying down here. We have beds just steps away, for crying out loud."

Snape's deep laughter rumbled through the couch, followed by a small noise of pain. He easily reached his long arm out to the table and grabbed the hangover potions, handing one to Hermione and then slurping down his own. She propped herself up with one arm to do the same.

"Suspicious sleeping arrangements, fresh blankets and pillows, hangover potions, and pleasant morning breath after I drank a small vat of liquor… this has Wulfric written all over it." He paused. "Well, it has Albus written all over it, and I swear he was reincarnated into my damned house elf."

"Can we just… not move?" Hermione said with a yawn. His arm reached across her to set the empty phials down, and then moved back to rest near his hip. She could almost feel how close his hand was to her blanket-covered skin.

"No. However, I am, quite literally, in no position to argue. I fear I'm at your mercy until you move."

"Well then get comfy." She relaxed back into the couch, then realized, again, that it was Snape she was using as a backrest. He flinched.

"If you continue to press on my bladder we will have an entirely _different_ situation."

She scooted forward a little. Her head snapped up when a small _pop_ filled the silence of the room. Snape must have opened his mouth behind her to go into lecture mode on Wulfric, because the elf held up a hand.

"Sorry for the interruption, but you have a visitor at Spinner's End."

"To hell with visitors. What did –"

"It's Lucius Malfoy."

Snape cleared his throat behind her. "Oh, sorry." Hermione sat up, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders as she did so, and wiped the sleep from her eyes. She slid down to the end of the couch to allow him to sit up as well.

"I assume you let him in with the standard excuse. What does he want?"

"Yes," Wulfric answered. "I told him it was a particularly volatile potion to give you some extra time, and set out tea for him. He only said the matter was of utmost importance and that he required an audience immediately."

Severus made a small, derisive noise. "Knowing Lucius, he probably used those exact words."

Wulfric nodded with a smirk. "I can remove him if you wish, but he does have an air of concern about him." He remained standing there expectantly, hands clasped behind his back.

Snape drug a hand over his face. "_Fine_." He stood, then charmed clean his clothes from the night before and removed the transfiguration charm. Hermione blushed in realization and tried to cover herself just as he glanced down at her; her dress had been on the skimpy side to begin with, and offered very little to the imagination in the way it had strategically bunched itself in the night.

With a grumble, Snape cast a _Finite Incantatem _at her. He crossed the room to the fireplace but paused with his pinch of floo powder. He didn't turn around.

"Get yourself around, Granger. We'll have planning to do when I get back."

She nodded, and he disappeared through the green flames to Spinner's End. Wulfric mumbled something about breakfast and 'the well-laid plans of elves and men' as he headed toward the kitchen. After the flurry of activity she was alone on the couch, warm Snape-scented blanket draped over her escaping bust and bare legs, feeling… out of sorts. She stared into the empty hearth contemplating just how odd her life had become. After a few minutes a light clang from the kitchen pulled her from her thoughts, and she headed to her rooms to get showered and start the day.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: The previous chapter has been updated to correctly say Spinner's End instead of Malfoy Manor, which I somehow typed instead.

Disclaimer: Still J.K.'s stuff. Call me, Lucius.

/\\/

Lucius Malfoy's voice assaulted him before the floo dust even had a chance to settle.

"Severus! How nice of you to join me _days_ after telling me you had big news."

He lounged in a rich brown leather chair near the hearth that had obviously been transfigured from Severus' ratty old recliner that had sat there. His hair and clothing were immaculate as always, and he did not stand while Severus shook the soot from his robes.

"I have been… otherwise occupied."

"Oh?" Lucius steepled his fingers and did his best to look immensely interested. Severus wasn't buying it.

"Yes. I'm at a critical stage in brewing-"

"Severus, you might fool the average houseguest with that rabble – who am I kidding, you probably don't get enough visitors to _have_ an average – but I have known you too well for too long to buy the _generic potions excuse_."

Severus crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Lucius, unblinking.

"Whatever happened last night: spill it."

"Lucius, if you're attempting to live vicariously through _me_ of all people, you're in a sad, sad state –"

"-he says, showing up with mussed hair in his robes from the night before and smelling like a woman."

Severus' mouth slipped open for a mere second, then snapped closed into a scowl. His tone was dangerously low.

"_What?_"

"You heard me, you old dog. You remembered to lift the transfiguration from last night's robes before you came here from wherever _else_ it was you slept last night – but failed to change out of the original ones you were in."

Severus' scowl deepened in correlation to the wide grin spreading across his friend's face. Lucius let him steep in his embarrassed rage for several moments before his grin faded into a more serious countenance.

"Severus… just what are you playing at here?" All traces of malice and jest were gone from Malfoy's features; he looked, for the first time since the fall of the Dark Lord, every year of his age.

Severus stared back at his oldest friend. Sure, they'd had a falling out during the period when Lucius hadn't yet realized how bat-shit crazy Voldemort was. The senior Malfoy still had some dark inclinations and could be a nasty piece of work – but then again, so could Severus. He crossed the small living room to stand in front of an impossibly small window and stared out, though there was nothing to see of any interest behind Spinner's End.

"Something darker is brewing beneath this so-called _mingling_ sanctioned by the Ministry."

"As if forcing arranged marriages on all able-bodied magical citizens wasn't dark enough," Lucius said. Severus' hand clenched slightly on the windowsill, but he did not turn around.

"As I am sure you are aware," Snape continued, "there are those in the Ministry, as well as elsewhere, who believe that my true allegiance has always been with the Death Eaters or with the winning side. The _invitation_ I received to the event held at the Manor, like everyone else, _requested_ that I attend. Various interested persons, who now knew of my existence but could not discuss it beyond Ministry-cleared employees and for necessary paperwork, assured me that they would personally strive to make my experience the most unpleasant possible should I not attend and play nice. Pick your reason as to why I showed up: shock value, recon, subterfuge, stupidity. I did not expect to be ambushed with the necessity of signing up for these _matches _or _interests_."

"And so you suddenly all but hitched yourself to Hermione Granger."

"It is a calculated risk. She certainly is less horrid than most of the other _eligible_ women."

"Severus, you utterly hopeless romantic."

Snape nearly growled at Malfoy. "Thank you, by the way, for alerting Molly to my location. I am at least grateful that I was able to make a quick, risky decision rather than being scooped up by Trelawny and other such atrocities…"

"Quit redirecting the conversation. Why her? What is the plan?"

"The explanation is that we were in the same place at the right time. The reasoning is that we both have the same expectations going in: we dislike the law, we dislike being told what to do, and we dislike having our partners chosen for us. We will carry on a farce of a _relationship_ while working together to undermine the law in hopes of either getting it overturned or finding a loophole –"

"Yes, yes," Malfoy said with a wave of his hand. "Draco brought details of the first meeting back to me, if you recall. More about that first bit."

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. "What of it? Would you like me to prepare a sonnet about my almost-betrothed? It's a sham relationship for a sham marriage brought about by a sham law! There's nothing to talk about!"

Had Severus turned around, he would have hexed Lucius for the amused look on his face. The older man kept prying.

"I think the gentleman doth protest too much. Surely you can't be that peeved about marrying a kind, intelligent young woman such as Granger has become. She's no troll to look at, either. Most men would be thrilled to bed a woman half their age."

"I am not _bedding_ her."

"Then you should be. Despite whatever the press morons say, you look genuinely happy in the photos that made it to the paper." Lucius' tone took on a softer, more somber note. "You can allow yourself to be happy, Severus. You've done so much for so long; if you can find some contentment with Granger while working against this law… take it."

Severus may have said nothing, but not arguing with Lucius was as strong a message as he could send.

"Besides, Severus – and don't take offense to this – you could really, _really_ use a good shag, and –"

Severus stormed through the fireplace in a rush of floo powder and flames, leaving a grinning Lucius sitting in his house. He heard a smarmy retort from the other man as he left, but kept going. Lucius would see himself out as he always did when he inevitably annoyed Severus to the point of departure.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Thanks again for the favs/follows/reviews! And thanks to ozma914 for beta-ing; if you like Buffy check out some of his fics.

Disclaimer: If I owned Snape or anything else from Harry Potter... well, I wouldn't be here!

/\\/

Hermione heard a clatter and a curse from the living room. She winced into the foggy bathroom mirror; if there was a door to the floo network to be slammed, that's what it would sound like.

She exited the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, and leaned out from her bedroom door just enough to see down the hall. "Everything okay in there?"

Snape was walking her direction, probably back to the master bedroom; his eyes widened and he swiftly turned to retreat to the other side of the house. "For God's sake, Granger, put some bloody clothes on!"

Hermione quickly shut the door and went about drying her hair and getting dressed. She pulled the unruly curls into a loose ponytail and checked her decidedly muggle outfit: sensible shoes, her favorite broken-in jeans, and a red t-shirt. It wouldn't have done to walk out with an awkward hole or stain or something else to embarrass herself minutes after the exchange they just had. She frowned; she knew he wore an awful lot of clothes with an awful lot of buttons, but was he really so much of a prude that her exposed… shoulder? collarbone?... had offended him?

She found him sitting on the sofa in the living room. He stood quickly and awkwardly at her approach.

"Come." Without a glance to see if she followed, he headed back down the hall she'd just come out of. He led her through one of the doors they'd passed over on her first night here.

She instantly knew why he hadn't shown her that night; she'd have never gone to bed. The walls were lined floor to ceiling with built-in bookcases that were absolutely brimming with tomes. Two plush chairs sat in one corner with a reading lamp and coffee table, and a large desk and work table sat on the other side of the room. An assortment of pillows, poufs, and throws draped over the nearby couch. The _pièce de résistance _was a rolling library ladder that allowed access to the topmost shelves.

Hermione stood in the doorway with her mouth dropped slightly open until a gentle pressure pushed her jaw upward. She shook her head and looked over to Snape, but he was clear across the room from where he'd been standing next to her. _The hell? _No wonder he caught so many students after curfew.

"You may have free use of the library while you're here. However," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous tone, "_Under no circumstances are you to touch anything on the far left shelf." _He pointed to the bookcase in question; unlike the others, it had small rails along the front of each shelf and glimmered with wards.

"Why?"

"Because I-" _He was totally going to say "because I said so"!_

"Because it contains things far beyond what you've encountered in the worst books of the Restricted Section."

Hermione wasn't happy with the limitation, but nodded.

"I assume you're ready to get planning. What did Mr. Malfoy have to say?"

Snape ignored her question and sat down at the shiny-surfaced worktable. A stack of parchment and selection of quills appeared at his elbow. Hermione looked at him quizzically.

"Wulfric," he explained. "Sit." His voice was clipped and terse.

She sat in the chair next to him and repeated her question. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"It is of no importance."

"It is clearly of _some_ importance," she said.

He turned to glare at her through slitted eyes. She held his gaze for what seemed like minutes.

"_Fine_. He wanted to know what was going on in regards to our situation and our _plan_. I neglected to tell him anything before Draco attended the meeting."

"And?"

He sighed. "Miss Granger, rest assured that I do not have a secret agenda, other than the one I have _with_ you, and that I will share any… pertinent… information."

She opened her mouth, but closed it again as his scowl deepened. _Baby steps, Hermione. He's been secluded from the whole wizarding world until just recently and he probably already maxed out his conversation quota for the day at Malfoy's._

"Let's just get started, then. What's at the top of the list at the moment?"

Snape paused briefly, then pulled out his wand and waved it at the parchment and quill. They came to attention in the air and poised themselves to take notes.

"Making an actual list to begin with, for starters," he said. He sneered when the quill wrote 'make a list' as the first item.

"As I'm sure you're aware, we need to sort out your residence. It will quickly become clear that you're not only no longer sleeping there, but no longer living there at all. In hand with that, we also need to secure any other properties or funds of yours, lest it eventually be tracked or seized by the Ministry."

Hermione chewed her bottom lip in thought. "Luckily I'm renting, but not tied down with a lease. If we could fabricate a reason for me to be in financial trouble, that would explain suddenly dropping the house and emptying my accounts."

The quill scratched away, but Snape looked doubtful. "There is still the problem of where you'll be living _officially_. I could set you up at Spinner's End, but the subsequent media inflammation at our relationship's sudden jump forward would be too risky."

"The Burrow," Hermione said. "It's perfect. I've stayed there before, they'll all vouch for me, and the constant activity and sheer number of people would more easily cover my absence."

"Their home is also imbued with powerful, old magic from the generations of Weasley ancestors before them."

"Oh?" Hermione leant toward him in her chair, her knees nearly touching his. She'd never heard this before.

"Molly would die for any of her children, Weasley or not. Imagine the magic that protected Potter multiplied by that number, going back as far as the fertile line of Weasleys has inhabited the Burrow."

"But what about… Bill's wedding?" Hermione looked nervous as she recalled the day Death Eaters had invaded the Burrow.

"Fortunately for us, we're not dealing with a homicidal madman and his leagues of dangerous, hardened followers this time around. This is… different. We need only the illusion of compliance to the Ministry regulations, including keeping them _out_. Arthur is above suspicion at the moment – no one doubts any of the Weasley spawn will stay single and refuse to bear children – and they can quite easily create a fake room for you at the Burrow. I assume it would not be too much of a burden for you to occasionally take meals there?"

Hermione nodded. "Mrs. Weasley would love that. I'm sure we can stage some other domestic events. However…"

Snape stared at her. "What? Spit it out, Granger." His tone softened slightly. "You may speak freely here."

"Well… I think we'll need to, um…" She trailed off again as she tried to collect her thoughts. Her eyes darted around the room, avoiding Snape's eyes. "You'll have to come to dinner sometimes, so we'll be able to "see" each other. And we'll probably need to…"

When Hermione blushed, Snape began to pale. Then faint pink spots spread ever so slightly across his high cheekbones. It was quite possibly the scariest thing Hermione had ever seen, though it was nice to see a more human side of Snape. He cleared his throat.

"Oh! I didn't mean… _you know_… I just meant we should practice things couples do so we'll look more natural together, especially if we get photographed or bump into a Ministry loyalist, and-"

"Hermione." The gentle pressure under her chin returned and she lifted her head to see Snape's eyes searching her face. His voice was deeper again. "We should start by addressing each other by our given names."

"Okay… Severus." It sounded so foreign, yet so natural on her tongue. "And then?"

If that hadn't been true Gryffindor bravery, she didn't know what was.

"Well, Miss – Hermione… why don't you tell me? What _are_ these things couples do that you think we should… acclimate… ourselves to?"

She'd always liked his voice, especially when he lectured about various aspects of potions and a tinge of passion slipped in. But this… this was different: more sultry than sarcastic; more velvety than venomous. He was clearly enjoying taunting her.

"Realistic versions of all the things Severus Snape would never do in public," she said cheekily. "Hand-holding, hugging…"

His right hand still hovered near her chin, but his left moved up to take hold of the hand she had rested on her thigh. Slowly he turned her smaller hand in his, brushing the pad of his thumb across her palm. His long fingers were slightly cold, and bore light calluses from years of preparing potions ingredients (she assumed).

"Like… this?"

Hermione swallowed a little harder than normal and hoped he hadn't noticed. All her hormonal thoughts from fifth and sixth year flooded back to her: the hands, the voice…

"I will assume by your lack of complaint that you are fully _satisfied _with my hand-holding abilities."

"I… yes."

"Good. Now… what _other_ activities would you like to try?"

"I… um."

"Tsk, tsk, Miss Granger," he chided, "how do you ever expect to convincingly do what you cannot even say aloud?"

Hermione chewed her bottom lip as her own personal war raged internally. The part of her that had a schoolgirl crush on Snape, along with the adult part that hadn't had any physical contact in months, screamed that this was her chance. The shy, awkward part, backed up by her memories of just how dangerous Snape was when he was angry, had her in a state of paralyzed fear.

"Hermione." His index finger tilted her chin up again, but stayed with it this time. He looked at her with knitted brows, as if she'd just taken all the fun out of their exchange. "Are you nervous because of… _inexperience_?"

This conversation was not happening. This conversation was not happening. This conversation was not happening.

"No!" she blurted. "No, I have… I'm _experienced_. Shit! I mean, that is to say, I've had _experiences _but I'm not some _super-experienced_ –"

The rest of her words vanished as Severus' lips pressed softly into hers. The hand on her face gently pulled her ever so slightly toward him, the thumb stroking over her jawline; the other still held hers. After a moment of shock, she deepened the kiss. He tasted vaguely of mint and some herb she couldn't place at the moment; she leaned in closer and their knees bumped together. He pulled back; she inwardly cringed at the fact that she already missed his touch.

"Was that… _sufficient_ enough to allay your worries?"

"Yeah." She smiled, then blushed. "Not that I thought you-"

His kiss this time was a bit more forceful. It was quick but complete, and he stood up as he pulled away from her.

"Go take care of your rental agreement and speak to the Weasley matriarch. Send a patronus – _not_ an owl – if you require my assistance."

He swiftly strode out of the room and, presumably, into the master bedroom. With a last wistful but shell-shocked look around the library, Hermione headed out into the hallway. As she crossed to her bedroom to gather her things, she heard the shower in the master bath kick on.

She might need one herself.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I don't own HP/make any money.

A/N: Thanks to the lovely Ozma914 for proofreading for me so I don't post incoherent, typo-ridden chapters. Also, in case anyone's wondering: we *will* get back to dear Lucius in the story.

/\/\

Molly, of course, had been ecstatic – _after_ she verified that Hermione was okay. Hermione was infinitely glad she'd visited her landlord and Gringotts first; after her discussion and subsequent dinner with the Weasley clan, she spent the better part of two hours answering Arthur's questions about microwave ovens. Living with a Slytherin must have been wearing off on her, since she introduced the topic to Mr. Weasley after Ginny asked why Hermione had been so flushed when she arrived. _I'll have to tell her… when I actually know what's going on._

Hermione walked into the house much later than anticipated and was surprised to find it empty. She decided to take the opportunity to familiarize herself with the rest of the estate, since she hasn't exactly been given the full tour when she first arrived.

Hours later, she'd been around the whole place - except for Snape's bedroom and what looked like his private lab, since she didn't have a death wish - and felt relatively comfortable with her surroundings. She still didn't know how long she'd be here, or what Snape's living situation was for that matter, but felt slightly better and more in control now that she could make tea and all that.

Snape still wasn't back, but her curiosity could no longer overpower her need to sleep. Her exhaustion from the long day kicked in in earnest as she prepared for bed; after brushing her teeth and visiting the loo, she gave up on pajamas and simply shrugged out of her jeans, snuggling under the crisp sheets in just her underwear and the shirt she'd been wearing.

She woke to a knocking sound on the bedroom door, and groggily mumbled for Snape (she assumed) to come in. She didn't move or open her eyes yet, but the red hue of her eyelids told her it was morning.

"Did you complete your tasks yesterday?" he asked.

It was quite possible that Hermione had never met someone who was more of a morning person that she. Had she been sorted into Ravenclaw she may have been encountered one, but she still wouldn't have expected grumpy, surly Severus Snape to voluntarily rise early to meet the day. Maybe that was why he was so sour… or maybe it was a holdover from getting so little sleep during his double agent days.

"If you're done napping, I'd like an answer."

Right. Not moving and keeping your eyes closed did indicate sleeping. She rolled slightly to her side.

"Yes, it's all taken care of. Molly sent leftovers as well. Something special for you. Can't remember what. It's all in the fridge."

"Very well."

"No, it's fantastic. I'd almost forgotten how good her food can be."

A silence filled the room, followed by the clunk of Snape's boots toward he door and a soft snore from Hermione.

"Meet me in the study in twenty minutes. If you're not on time wearing something more presentable than lace knickers, I'll send Wulfric up. He is not known for his patience with unmade beds or undressed humans."

Hermione sat up quickly and looked down as the door snapped closed. How had he...? Oh. It appeared she'd kicked some of the bedclothes off last night; her skimpy underwear and unshaven legs had been on full display, and she'd even told him it was okay to come in. At least the underwear had been embarrassingly revealing instead of embarrassingly ugly. She briefly entertained the notion of going down the hall in different, non-lace underwear just to spite him, but thought it was a bit too early in their not-relationship to try it… even if she could summon the guts. With a groan, she dragged herself out of bed, cast some cleansing charms, threw on the first clothes she grabbed, and rushed to the study.

Snape was sitting at the work desk with a copy of the Prophet and a stack of parchment. He was in his customary all black attire, but wore a more casual sweater and slacks instead of his severe robes. He even had his hair pulled back at the nape of his neck, though Hermione assumed it was more for practical reasons since his hair was getting longer. She sat down across from him, but he didn't look up from his writing.

"Sorry Professor... Severus. I didn't intend to embarrass you or step over any boundaries, or... I was just so tired and I didn't realize the blankets had slipped and I forgot I wasn't still wearing jeans, I mean I guess it's better than being totally naked though... why haven't you interrupted yet?" _Did I just use the word 'naked' and 'Professor' in the same run on sentence?_

Snape finished his sentence with a flourish and set down his quill. She _knew _he was doing it for effect. He could probably sense her wringing her hands under the desk and mentally panicking. Finally, he looked up at her with a painstaking slowness.

"Hermione, as I'm sure you realized yesterday, I did in fact discover one method to stop your incessant rambling. However, to do that while having just seen you half naked would be ... Unwise."

_Did Snape just come onto me?  
_  
Her mouth made a weird little O and she went silent, unsure of his to react or respond.

"And there's method number two: shock her into silence with an outlandish, unanswerable statement."

Hermione blinked. It was all she was capable of doing. This man had toed the fine line between Dumbledore and Voldemort for longer than she'd been alive - there was no way she could tell which statement was true. Her brain might actually explode; could she work enough variables into an advanced Arithmancy equation to produce any useful result? She could always throw herself at him, she supposed, but he could be mortified or just pretend to be mortified, or-

"Miss Granger!"

She snapped to attention at his Professor voice. How long had he been -

"I'll have Wulfric bring some coffee and tea in hopes of bringing you back to the world of the living. Can you pull yourself together for the next ten minutes?"

She glared, but instantly softened the look when she realized Snape was teasing her. She smiled.

"Oh, I just don't know..."

/\/\

Hours later, Snape stood and stretched his various appendages. Hermione did the same, but he surprised her by heading for the doorway.

"I have a potion to attend to. We'll resume in an hour; Wulfric will have lunch ready in the meantime."

He rushed away before Hermione could ask anything, and she didn't see him for the full hour; she wasn't sure if he ate at all, but he certainly hadn't eaten with her. When Snape came in the door exactly sixty minutes later, she had a mental list of questions and talking points... which all naturally flew out the window the second he opened his mouth.

"It occurs to me that we haven't discussed our …plans… outside of this Ministry sham: what we're doing in other aspects of our lives, and, most importantly, work."

"Work is the most important?"

Snape sneered at her, but she was just beginning to get an inkling on how to distinguish the minute details in his sneering expressions: this one looked more playful. Maybe.

"I remember a certain Gryffindor stating that expulsion was a fate worse than death." He paused to hold up a hand. "Yes, before you ask, Dumbledore did know just about everything insignificant that happened in the castle, and loved to regale us with long stories of whimsy during even longer staff meetings."

He gestured for her to take a seat in one of the armchairs by the fireplace. He leaned against the mantle in a (barely) less-intimidating version of the stance he'd taken during Potions classes.

"Now, as I was saying: we need to discuss and synchronize our work schedules. We have no room to be sloppy with this, especially in the later stages of our… relationship… when we should know where the other is during the majority of the day and when we can… see… each other. Furthermore, there will be times, as I am sure you know, that I absolutely cannot be interrupted."

She nodded. If student-level potions could melt cauldrons, she could only imagine what Master level ones could do. Far worse than giving her a tail, from what she'd read beyond the curriculum.

"I will also assume that you have gathered the general basis of my work, and that I only have to fill in the details." He didn't wait for an answer, by she nodded again anyway. "I create difficult, lengthy, and finicky potions for those with less talent and more money. I then use those dividends to fund my research. When I was still dead to the Wizarding world, I used an alias I've had in place for years; now that I'm alive and well once more, I'll _capitalize on the marketing ability of my real name_, or so my legal advisor suggests. I'm working on several pet projects, but I also research and experiment for interested parties, should they be able to pay the price."

"So you make your own hours, fitted around your deadlines and the stages of the potions you're working on," Hermione said.

"Precisely. Even then, besides extreme rush orders or potions that cannot be put under a stasis charm, I can usually adjust hours as necessary. Now, what of your work schedule?"

Hermione looked down awkwardly. "Well, it's an interesting story…"

To her surprise, Snape's tone was calm when he prodded her for more information. "Hermione, with all that you went through during your seventh year, coming back to take your NEWTs, and the hefty amount of cash from the Orders of Merlin several of us received… I would not fault you for not yet establishing a career."

"That's-" she started, "Thank you, Severus. I think that's probably the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Continue." His mask had slipped back into place, and she could not read him.

"I _was_ starting a career, or at least I was starting in _a _career until I decided what I wanted to do for sure." She gave a small, bitter laugh. "Unfortunately, that career was in the research and development sector of the Ministry."

"I see. _Was?_"

"Technically, _is_. I hadn't used any of my paid vacation or sick days, and had logged quite a bit of overtime – not having a boyfriend or social life will do that to you. So, when it trickled down to me through various sources that the Ministry would be introducing a law roping Muggle-borns into marriages for the _good of the population_… well, I cashed all those days in before it would look suspicious. Believe it or not, my boss was ecstatic."

"I'm sure he was. He had no doubt correctly viewed you as a threat to his job."

Hermione frowned. "I appreciate the sentiment, Severus, but you don't have to give me the pep talk."

"You should know by now that I do not give _pep talks_, the exception being crying first year Slytherins… and then only _one_. You may be a lot of things, Hermione Granger, but you are talented and tenacious. That is a lethal combination in this world of dunderheads and lazy, arrogant prats."

Again, she just stared at Snape. What was she supposed to say? Thanks?

"So then am I to assume that method number three for shutting up a Granger is make a one-time genuinely true but far too optimistic for my image statement?"

"Yeah… I suppose you could say that." _I think I liked the first method the best, though._

"How many days of paid leave remain?" His tone, his gaze did not match the words he spoke. The intensity in his eyes that made her briefly wonder if he could sense her thoughts; unlike Harry, she'd never had Occlusion lessons.

"Four weeks."

He paused with a thoughtful look on his face, and Hermione knew he was doing the same math she'd done.

"If I give a two week notice, that gives us about two weeks to escalate things to the extent that it's not suspicious that I want to quit for personal reasons."

"That should also fit in nicely with the Ministry's next scheduled coupling party."

"How do you know the - Malfoy. Of course."

"Yes. The _Mixers_ are bi-monthly. The last one was about a week ago, thus the next one will be in about a week. That gives us great potential for quite a dramatic staging event. We have the full cooperation of the Malfoys, and Lucius is indeed hosting the next two events, at least."

"Okay. So we play ourselves to the public as much as possible while we make the rest of the preparations for my leaving the Ministry, then escalate it at the Mixer with a finale sometime in the following week. But how do we make it _believable_?"

Hermione rose from her chair to pace a small circuit between the fireplace and the window. They needed more _time_ – but they would never get it. Not with the urgency that the Ministry was putting on sealing in the marriages, and not with the high risk involved.

"Why isn't there a _book_ for this? There isn't; I looked! And no, rubbish like _Twenty Ways to Wow Your Wizard's Wand_ and _Be the Snitch He's Seeking_ do not count. I even hit up Muggle bookshops. The closest I could find were books about dealing with arranged marriages, but even those had nothing about the government suddenly giving you a deadline to marry a specific type of-"

"Miss Granger!"

She looked up, startled, and stopped in her tracks a few feet from where he stood. _Not that I should have been startled, since all I seem to be capable of lately is rambling nonsense until I'm interrupted. _His nostrils flared slightly and his eyes held something deeper, darker than she could place. She took a step closer, nervously chewing her bottom lip and fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.

"Severus, I think I-"

"Oh I know, _Miss Granger_." His voice held the same icy venom as when he'd taken points from Gryffindor on her behalf. "I know I'm not the _type_ of person many witches want to be shackled to for the rest of eternity, even if they weren't half my age, but remember: You. Chose. _ME_."

Hermione visibly drew back. Her mind processed a thousand things and nothing all at once: _Hurt_. She would have to be the brave one, the lioness in the snake's den; her eyes darted to his in some vague hope that he would see her sincerity.

"No, Severus," she said softly. "I was going to say I think I… I think I like your first method of shutting me up better."

What she hadn't expected was that _she _would be the eloquent one. She anticipated a silky rebuttal, or perhaps a professor-like explanation of… _something_.

His rushed but fluid movement to close the distance between them ripped away any thought other than him from her mind. His right hand came up to her cheek, weaving into her hair as he pulled her face toward his to meet her lips with an urgency she'd never before experienced. His other hand came up to join it before moving down her back, while she slid her arms around his neck and inched forward until their bodies were nearly touching. They were so close, but he was so much taller; he gently but quickly maneuvered her back toward the mantle.

Hermione stepped back onto the raised hearth and let out a pleasantly surprised groan when her back made contact with the fireplace. It turned into a moan when he pressed her, hard, against the unyielding stone. She tugged his hair free of the tie to tangle her hands in it, to pull him as closely as possible to her… but it wasn't enough. His lips, then his teeth, moved to her neck; she arched her back, pulled at his shoulders, moved her leg up his – anything to get more of him.

He recaptured her lips as he shifted to follow her lead. He ran his hand up the length of her leg to grip her thigh, then relinquished his hold on her face long enough to give the same attention to both sides. She groaned, moaned… whatever, when he lifted her up and wrapped her legs around his waist. They were on an even level now, not that she could tell with Severus' mouth suctioned to the most tender spot on her neck. He worked his way up to her ear slowly, languorously, and pushed his hips into hers.

"Hermione." His voice was raw with emotion, yet still somewhat silky. "Is this what you want? _Tell me_." He pressed his obvious arousal into her harder, drawing a pleasant gasp from her lips.

"Yes. _Yes_. Y-"

"I believe she definitely _does_ want it, Severus."

Severus' wand flew to his hand, which moved to rest on the mantle behind her. He otherwise did not move, but the darkest, deadliest voice she'd ever heard from him rumbled against her neck.

"Lucius, you have exactly thirty seconds to explain yourself, and for your sake I hope it is better than what I was about to do."

A/N 2: Don't worry too much about the cliffhanger - M would personally drive here and punch me repeatedly if I fell behind in updating!


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: This chapter is un-beta'd so I could put it out more quickly. It also breaks to the next chapter sooner than I'd anticipated, but again, I wanted to get it out before I went to bed and it seemed like an okay place to stop for the moment. It's also possible I fear the wrath of M and hope this small offering of a fic chapter pleases her.

Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no money from this. Thanks JK for giving us such awesome characters to let us play around with.

/\/\

"Sorry to disappoint, dear Severus, but it is worse… _much_ worse. I come bearing urgent and sensitive information."

"Regarding?" Snape's slow, silky drawl preceded his teeth across her neck once more. It was, well, _hot_, that he was doing it in front of Lucius, and doubly so since he was normally such a private man. Then again, Lucius had probably seen more of Snape than anyone. Figuratively and literally, if the accounts of certain activities at Death Eater Revels she'd heard were true.

"Regarding your imminent proposal of nuptials."

The remaining haze of lust that clung around Hermione's mind faded away. She was suddenly _aware_; her back ached where it had scraped over a particularly rough stone on the fireplace and the friction against her jeans was starting to chafe. Severus let out a half-sigh, half-growl as he gently lowered her legs to the floor, and then gestured for them all to sit. She plopped down at the end of the couch, her mind now filling with questions. How had he gotten in? What was that important? Would she be taking him to St. Mungo's when Severus was done with him? Would she and Severus pick up where they left off after whatever Lucius was here for?

"I _am_ terribly sorry for interrupting, Severus. I only wish I'd gotten here later." Lucius sank into one of the armchairs with an absolutely devilish smirk. Snape stood a few feet from the hearth with his arms crossed over his chest, and she wasn't quite sure if it was _less_ or _more_ scary than it was in his 'professor' robes. He didn't speak, but his silent glare was enough to prompt the other man's explanation.

"Yes… well, then. I'm sure you're wondering, firstly, how I got in; it was your elf. I tried every house and hovel you own only to find them all empty, and then remembered that your elf attended me at Spinner's End even when you weren't there. I explained the situation and he brought me here, after swearing me in with some rather complex oaths and-"

"Wulfric!"

The elf appeared instantly, already bearing a tray with tea and biscuits. Snape glared at him as well.

"Why did you not think it prudent to notify me about our guest, or simply call me to Spinner's End?"

The elf sat the tray down on the table before them, and turned his tiny face to Snape between movements as he served the group.

"Master Malfoy insisted the information and knowledge thereof involved a significant amount of risk to all parties involved. When he told me the subject matter, I agreed, and decided that the conversation was too sensitive to be held anywhere less secure than this residence."

"You're forgetting to mention why you did not inform _me_."

The elf smiled broadly as he took a few steps back.

"Wulfric does not have a death wish. It is Master Malfoy's problem to interrupt you with!" He vanished from the room, leaving a small 'pop' and a trace of elf laughter in his wake. Snape looked at Malfoy expectantly.

"I have been informed that the Ministry will be instituting more requirements for Matchmaking, as well as enforcing the _suggestions_ already in place. You will get an owl tomorrow inviting you to the next _two _Mixers; they will now be held weekly. While the scheduled event at the Manor still holds, the next event will be at a different location. I do not yet know who will host."

"How bad are the enforcements?" Hermione asked.

"I only have knowledge of what will happen at the Manor, but I anticipate they will be improved upon at subsequent Mixers. The Hall will be warded against various forms of deceit: glamours and enhancement charms will disappear on entrance, lust and love potions will be rendered ineffective, and other misleading spells will fail or backfire. I am unsure of the full potency, but it seems that magical interference of any kind other than make-up or dressing charms will result in embarrassment and Ministry suspicion."

"Great," Hermione said. She set down her teacup with a clunk louder than she intended.

"Why Miss Granger, it doesn't appear that you'll be needing those charms, anyway, based on your mutual enthusiasm earlier."

"The rest, Lucius." Hermione was grateful Snape had ignored her blush and kept the conversation on track.

"I have even less specific information about this, but the informant is of utmost reliability. In an effort to look more ethical, the Ministry wants Matches to be 'right'. You'll have to have "tried out" more than one Match, at least, before getting married; I assume they'll check those for any funny business. They'll also be checking in on Declared couples to make sure they're fulfilling contractual dating obligations, along with additional measures for married couples."

"And?" Severus' tone made her suspicious.

Malfoy sighed and set his drink down. The image of the once cruel, narcissistic, unfeeling man leaning near the coffee table with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands was one that Hermione would never forget. His voice was raw and shaky.

"They are… revoking many of the waivers…that is, for people of certain circumstances who wouldn't be required to marry under law. I… I'll have to_ re-marry_, Severus. Apparently I'm now classified as a _bachelor_ instead of a _widower_. A widower-bachelor with an heir, expected to produce another child while marrying off my first-born and still mourning my wife!" His teacup exploded but the raining shards of glass vanished in midair, along with the remaining dishes and tray. Hermione made a mental note to thank Wulfric… and never piss him off.

"I am truly sorry, Lucius," Severus said. His tone was softer, though it still had an undercurrent of anger.

"I'll do it." Hermione blurted the thought out at is came to her and was surprised, but not horrified, by her offer.

"_What?" _Severus cut over Lucius' muffled question with his own resounding demand.

"I'll be his first date."

She could feel Severus' magic radiating off him in the short silence after she spoke, and quickly hurried to fill it.

"I'll need another person on my punch-card," she explained. "We meet each other's requirements, and matching with Lucius will make it seem as if I simply have a thing for older Slytherin men. At the same time, it will send a message to those loyal to our cause that he is to be trusted. It would be less risky than pairing with a random male who may try to make a claim. Lucius or I can back out by saying it weirded us out that Draco and I are the same age."

Lucius looked up at her with hope gleaming in his eyes. This was clearly the only good news he'd heard all day.

"Miss Granger," he said, "I thank you for your offer, and I accept. Severus… I give you my word that I will not attempt anything uncouth."

"Give me a promise you can keep, Lucius." His words were harsh, but the men chuckled. The newly-hatched plan seemed to have eased Malfoy's anxiety.

"You have my word I shall not stand in the way of your… whatever it is that the two of you are developing."

"Indeed."

It was Hermione's turn to sigh dramatically. "Unfortunately, this completely screws our timetable sideways. At least we have the forewarning to work on it, though. Thank you, Mr. Malfoy."

"I daresay we can drop the formalities, Hermione – if I may?"

"Yes, Lucius." She stood from the couch. "When will you be calling on me? The sooner the better, so we can avoid suspicion by getting a date in before the Ministry announces."

He thought for a moment. "Tomorrow around eight, if that's suitable?"

She shared a look with Severus, who nodded almost imperceptibly. "Yes, that will do. If you two will excuse me…"

They nodded, and she made her way down the hallway toward the bathroom.

/\/\

"Severus, Severus, _Severus_," Malfoy chided from his seat on the couch. "I don't even know what to say."

"Then do not consume the valuable air of my study to speak."

"Please. Your air is at least twice as valuable after I've inhaled and exhaled it." Years of trained and practised stoicism kept Snape from batting an eye at the joke, but years of watching Snape let Malfoy see the faintest flicker of his amusement.

"I'm glad you took my advice, at any rate." Malfoy stood to walk to the doorway, where he glanced down the hall to check for Hermione's return. "How is… it?"

"I. Wouldn't. _Know_." If looks could kill, Lucius would have turned into a cat and died nine times.

"Well, then," Lucius said, "my apologies. It would seem to be a sure thing, at least."

Severus cleared his throat. "And you? Any prospects – Narcissa's friend from the first ball?"

Lucius shook his head sadly. "Trinity, unfortunately for me, is blissfully happy. I merely danced with her to catch up and appear to be participating in the festivities. She may, however, be able to lead me to other _prospects_ as you so eloquently put it."

/\/\

In the bathroom, Hermione was fighting a losing battle with her own sanity.

She _had_ needed to use the facilities, but not enough to leave immediately. What she'd really wanted was to escape for five minutes.

_Longer than five minutes_, she admitted to herself, her leg perched on the edge of the bathtub, razor in hand. She'd needed to pee, and she'd needed some air to think about how she was interrupted almost having sex with her former professor by a man older even than him, who she'd also asked out on a date. And then she'd realized that even out of the heat of the moment, yes, she _did_ want Snape. _Severus_. Just because life was dealing her a crap hand didn't mean she couldn't enjoy parts of it, and if getting a good shag was the only perk to this whole situation she was _damn_ sure she'd take advantage of it. It had 'been a while' for her.

That was when she realized that in the lull of lonely (and cold!) nights, she'd grown quite a monstrosity of leg hair. She had to shave. _Immediately_. It wasn't the first thing on her mind, and it certainly wasn't the most important – but for once in this whole damn ordeal, she was able to worry about something _normal_. She could fix hairy legs, and that could be the only victory she got today, or the next day, or the day after that.

So, she shaved her legs. Then she thought that since she had to go back through her bedroom anyway, it made sense to change certain garments on the way out… namely her knickers. As long as she was putting on fresh ones, she may as well put on sexy ones. And as long as she was in the drawer, it wouldn't hurt to put on a nice bra that somewhat matched the underwear. Now that she was standing there in just a bra and panties, well, why not throw on something to show off the smooth legs? And a different, lower-cut shirt that suited the bra.

It was probably the most Hermione had _ever_ thought about clothes, especially in relation to a guy seeing them on her. _Or off her. _It felt oddly liberating to laugh in the face of the Ministry by taking the time to debate thong vs. cheeky cut, skirt vs. shorts, tank top vs. clingy t-shirt. She needed Ginny, but boy was _that_ ever a conversation she wanted to put off.

Clothing was the cut-off point, though. She didn't pretend to be an expert on hair and make-up, and she didn't like _messing_ with it. She had to come out of the bathroom at some point; she hoped Lucius would be gone by now, because she didn't feel she should wait much longer.

As she made her way back down the hall, she saw that Lucius and Severus had moved into the living room area. Lucius had his back to her, but Severus did a double-take as his eyes fell on her figure.

His words were loud enough for carry back toward where she stood.

"Get out, Lucius."


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I just play with JK's characters, and make no claims or money with this fanfic.

A/N: Thanks for all the favs, follows, and reviews. I skipped responding this time around to use that time to write more; I didn't think you'd mind ;)

/\/\

"I know you do not often host guests and have a limited working knowledge of appropriate social practices, but that is quite rude even for you, Severus."

"I have an urgent matter at hand to… deal with. Leave."

Malfoy gave an indignant huff. "But I haven't said goodbye to-"

"_If you wish to stay and watch, then by all means turn around and ask Miss Granger if she won't mind. I assume she will, so if you find that inconvenient, kindly get the fuck out now and save us the trouble._"

Lucius did turn. His eyes roamed over her figure appreciatively; they paused at the swells in her clingy v-cut t-shirt, the curve of her hip, and the hem of her short but not scandalous shirt.

"Well, _Hermione_, I'm not sure why you had a wardrobe change, but I approve."

"Thank you." Her words were directed at Lucius, but her eyes were locked with Severus'. "One of my garments got rather _wet_ and I simply decided to change the rest while I was at it."

A wave of sensation started over Hermione's head and worked its way down her body. Lucius' voice sounded far away as he responded to her statement. She was staring hard into Snape's eyes, but he was moving toward her in an odd haze at the same time: pushing Lucius aside, backing her up against the couch, kissing her neck as he ran his hand up her thigh, ripping away her panties in one swift motion –

"_POTTER!"_

Hermione grabbed the wall for support as she was jolted backward. _Was that… had he just… _Snape had started, too, and was shaking his head and yelling at a wispy, reddish fox that spoke in Harry's voice.

"-but you need to come quickly, there's been an attack and we're not sure what's going on. Be safe and bring Snape with you, all right?"

Lucius's voice was suddenly much louder than it had been as he said something that vaguely sounded like "Draco" and headed for the door.

"It changed. A red fox – I'm guessing Ginny," Hermione said.

"_That's_ what you have to say, Granger? _Really_? Oh, the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Permanently-Cock-Block-Me-Just-Like-His-_Father_ has committed to a relationship, how _lovely_ for him."

Hermione frowned, still a bit off and unsure of the situation. "When I don't know what's going on, I make observations. That was one. Excuse me for being disoriented after… whatever the hell just happened!" Her face blushed bright red.

Snape swallowed thickly. "I did not mean to… offend… I did not intend to do so, but once I slipped in, you did not seem to mind and-"

"So that was Legilimency?"

His eyes bulged. "You did not know? I assumed... Potter…"

"No," Hermione said. "In fact, I was admittedly jealous that he got lessons on the subject and I didn't. I read up on it, but, as I'm sure you know, you can only get so much from books on such an intangible art. Harry didn't want to talk about it, wouldn't even tell me what it felt like."

"Had I known you had no knowledge of the skill I would not have used it in such a way. I am – "

"That's what you wanted to do to me? Why I could still vaguely hear and see what was going on outside my mind but focused on what you were thinking?"

"Yes. Although, as it was an _imagined_ version of events, certain details may have been… inaccurate. Hermione, I -"

"Look, Severus," she started, and held up a hand to stop him from interrupting. "I know whatever we have is new and young and kind of weird and unknown, but if I don't want something I'll tell you. You do _not _have to apologize for literally mind-fucking me… ever."

Snape's mouth was still dropped slightly open when a second patronus bounded into the room. He bristled visibly as Harry's voice filled the room again, but the look of malice on his face was gone.

"Seriously if you don't answer, I'm coming to look for you 'Mione." The fox proceeded to rattle off an address and then dispersed into vapor.

"I guess we're going to Hogsmeade," Hermione said unenthusiastically. With a growl, Snape grabbed his coat and cloak and dragged her out the door.

"Then the sooner we leave, the sooner we can get back, witch."

/\/\

They apparated into an alley behind Flourish and Blotts; Hermione hesitated to move from Snape's arms.

"We don't have to go, you know," Severus whispered in her ear. "We've done enough. Potter can handle this on his own, you could just send a message to tell him you're not dead…"

Whatever she said in response was unintelligible as his lips pressed into hers. Her arms snaked up his chest, and his wrapped around her to pull her closer to him.

"Hermione! Oh thank Merlin you're – oh god why…"

Snape continued to snog her even as Ron ranted further down the alley, the only mark that he'd heard the boy at all being his slight grin against Hermione's mouth. After a few more seconds, the two broke apart. She rushed to her friend while Snape followed at a more dignified, but still swift, pace.

"Ron! Where's Harry? What's happened?"

"Don't… don't hug me, okay? I don't want to hug Snape by osmosis or whatever. Harry's at the Hog's Head. It's… well, it's bad, but it could be a lot worse."

"Ron, tell me what happened. Now." She shivered, and ran her hands over her arms. A warm, heavy cloak came around her shoulders and she leaned back slightly as Severus fastened the clasp. His hand slid to her shoulder and remained there; the small gesture was oddly comforting.

The redhead scuffed his foot across the pavement. "Aberforth's gone, 'Mione. They must have got to him, they must have found out –"

He stopped as she hushed him. "Not here, Ron. Let's go."

He nodded, and led them through the throng of people milling around in search of news, a look at the crime scene, or just trying to buy something from one of the markets. Harry stood out sharply against the crowd outside the Hog's Head in his bright Auror robes.

"So that's our man on the inside," Severus whispered in her ear. She nodded.

One clear of Snape's throat parted the onlookers in a small path to Harry. They took an extra step back when he was followed by the other two thirds of the Golden Trio, one of which happened to be wearing his cloak, and began to whisper.

"I'm glad you're okay," Harry said, "we were worried there might have been additional attacks." He pulled her into a hug. "So that's what Snape smells like."

She almost giggled, but the somber air around the event that brought them there kept her from it. Harry stepped back and waved for them to follow him into the Hog's Head.

"There was clearly a struggle." He pointed at the smashed glass around the front windows and on the bar itself. "They took the most expensive liquor instead of smashing it. We're lucky they didn't _Incendio_ the place with all this alcohol coating everything. Upstairs is the kicker, though."

Ron rushed to follow Harry up the stairs first, and Severus gestured for Hermione to go before him. She stopped after a few steps when she didn't hear him behind her, and turned back to look at him.

"Walking up stairs with a cloak of that length might be unsafe,Miss Granger."

She frowned. _Weird, but he would know._ Still a bit cold, she opted to leave the cloak on but get it out of her way. She carefully drew the fabric up from behind and held the excess at her left hip.

"Perfect."

She looked down at him again, and he was smirking like the cat that got the cream. _Or rather, the snake that got the mouse-haired girl, in this case_. It took her a second, but…

"Oh. I see." **_You_**_ see, that is. _She took a step up with just her left leg and pretended to inspect something on the stairwell's wall. She could hear Harry and Ron doubling back…

"Go." She continued up the steps and heard Snape behind her, though still far enough behind to enjoy the show. Harry looked at her questioningly when she finally came into view.

"Sorry, I thought I… saw something." Harry nodded and waved them on again, this time toward the private room – the same one they'd used for their meeting.

"I saw something as well, but it was irrelevant to the case," Snape said casually as Hermione let the cloak back down. The boys either took it at face value or simply ignored him. A handful of other Aurors were in the room, but coincidentally finished up what they were doing and bustled downstairs. Ron looked at Snape.

"Blimey, wish I could clear a room like that."

"I do my best," he drawled. The three men spread out to search the room, but after a brief look around Hermione went back out into the main sitting area. She studied the portrait above the fireplace, her eyes not moving from it even when the other three rejoined her. She could tangibly feel Snape's closeness to her arm and back.

"As I suspected, Potter failed to find any additional evidence in the room, as did Mr. Weasley and I." Harry huffed. "_Which indicates_ he did his job… correctly… in the first place."

"That might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me," said Harry.

"Don't ruin it, Potter." He leaned in to Hermione, resting a hand on her lower back. "What have you found?"

"Harry, has this area been touched by many people?"

Harry shook his head. "No. We've been focusing on the areas where there were obviously struggles. Plenty of stuff to clean up and go through, but nothing to identify who might have taken him or… whatever happened."

"I need some privacy to explain this," she said. Harry glanced down the stairwell and then cast a whispered _Muffliato_. Snape rolled his eyes and cast a stronger version of the spell; when he'd finished, the world outside their small bubble of silence was completely drowned out… and his hand was _under_ the cloak on Hermione's back.

"He wasn't taken, Harry: he _left_. He waited until no one was around – which is pretty often, for the Hog's Head – then faked the struggle and the robbery to cover his exit. Ron, you'll have to go to Hogwarts. Harry would lead the Ministry there, and I would look too suspicious. You could just say you're visiting Charlie."

"Hogwarts?" Snape asked. She realized she was rambling, and backtracked a bit; it couldn't _possibly_ be because someone was distracting her by playing with the hem of her skirt.

"Yes," Hermione said, looking to Ron. He seemed to already have it pieced together but she pointed to the portrait for good measure, and to keep everyone looking that direction as Snape's hand slowly traveled up the back of her thigh. "He took the passage Neville opened during our seventh year. Look at the dust around the edges – it's been disturbed."

"Right," Ron said. "I'll go home for a bit first, then head over with one of Mum's care packages for Charlie. You lot should split up; Harry, look elsewhere and try to stall or divert the case. Hermione, you and… Snape… should visit some shops or something and look like you just happened to be rubbernecking like the rest of the crowd, only Harry got you clearance. Then do, or have someone else do, something high-profile later in the day to get the press attention."

"Well done, Mr. Weasley," Snape said. He looked sincere. Ron was thankfully oblivious to Snape's actions under the cloak, where his index finger traced up the curve of Hermione's bum, across the flesh that would have been covered by more practical underwear.

"You should see him play chess," Hermione said. The redhead nearly visibly glowed.

"We need to move," Harry said quickly. Snape's movements paused, then resumed when Harry started talking again, squeezing gently with his full hand. It all seemed to be happening in slow motion, but she knew there wasn't much more than a brief pause in Harry's words.

"We've been here too long," Harry continued. He, like the rest of them, was falling back into survival mode, war mode, where they functioned at their best. "Ron, flash us a message on the DA coins when you have news. I'll be looking into what spooked him into hiding and do the same. Hermione, you two should leave first."

Hermione nodded, giving Snape enough warning to extricate his hand, and hugged the boys briefly. She heard their conversation about Quidditch start up as she walked away, indicating that Snape had dropped the _Muffliato _spell.

He guided her out with his hand on the small of her back once more. The crowd parted again, and Severus quickly led them back to Flourish and Blotts. He opened the door for her to enter before him.

"Book shopping? Now this is a great date, though not _quite_ was I was anticipating."

He shushed her. He _shushed_ her! She opened her mouth to retort, but it was useless as he dragged her, gently but effectively, in sharp turns down different rows of books until he reached an edge of the store, where a small door nearly blended into the wall. They exited into a shadowed alley, and made two more turns down similar paths before he stopped at the far, dark end of one such hidden back-street.

"Take off the cloak." He held his hand out for the garment while his eyes searched the area. He clasped the cloak around himself, eyes still darting around the buildings, then turned back to her.

His hand ghosted over her cheek and she thought she might melt right through the cracked pavement in anticipation. His fingers slid down to her neck, then tangled in her hair as he leaned in to kiss her: tentatively, for the briefest of moments, and then with growing urgency.

This most definitely was not what Ron had in mind. Severus' free hand went up her skirt again, cupping and then squeezing her one cheek of her arse. She made a little whimper of pleasure. He started backing her up and for the second time that day, she found herself pushed up against bricks. It was too bad she didn't have the added height from the hearth here, but Snape was doing a fine job nonetheless. His teeth found purchase on a particularly sensitive patch of her neck while his hand moved upward and finally found her thong. He tugged at the elastic, pulling the garment deliciously against her sex before running his hand over the lace that covered her.

"Shall we finish what we started earlier?"

_That voice_. She squirmed against him and, infinitely thankful that his coat unbuttoned for some reason, reached for his belt. He rested his head on her shoulder; his breath hitched when she glossed over the belt buckle and ran her hand over the hard bulge in his slacks. He stopped her after a few strokes, and slid his own hand between her legs.

"My, my, _Hermione_."

His fingers slid down over the front of her panties. His thumb paused to press and rub at her most sensitive spot while the rest of his fingers moved on to slide over the slick lace further on.

"What a pity. It looks as if I've ruined another pair of your undergarments."

Any response she could have made was cut short when he simultaneously rubbed with his fingers and thumb and moved his other hand to her palm her breast, squeezing and then pinching the nipple into tautness. With some difficulty, she focused enough to unfasten his belt and unbutton his fly.

His hand slid around to her backside and he lifted her up, mirroring their position earlier. When he had her secure against the wall, he freed a hand to pull his cloak around them, mostly covering her. He kissed her deeply as, she assumed due to his movements in that general area, he removed himself from his trousers. His fingers returned to her entrance to push her thong aside, and she felt the tingle of a contraceptive charm as he rubbed her flesh. His right hand slid between the hard wall and her arse and she – _finally_ – felt the head of his erection rub up against her. Everything seemed to hang in the air for a moment: his hands on her hips, ready to push down; her hands roaming as they tried to find the perfect place on his body; their mouths drifting toward each other again.

Then it all came together in a flood of movement. They both moaned as he slowly entered her. She had only a few seconds to adjust to his girth before he slid out and repeated a few measured strokes. When she moaned loudly and pushed down against him, he began thrusting in earnest. His hands pushed her down toward him as he flexed his hips upward; she knew she'd have little Snape-sized bruises later, but relished the additional pleasure the pain brought now.

"Gods, witch," he hissed as he shifted forward. Both his hands came around to grab her arse; he pinned her still now as he pounded her against the building. Each stroke brought a fantastic amount of friction against her clit and she moaned; she knew she was letting out a string of words, but had no idea what she said or if it made any sense at all.

"Hermione," he breathed. His thrusts were beginning to get erratic, his breaths ragged. She wrapped her legs more tightly around his waist and moved as much as she could against him.

Milliseconds after she said, "_Yes_sss," he groaned loudly and visibly came undone. His body trembled against her and he pumped in three last long, hard strokes, then stilled. He was silent for just a moment.

"As much I would enjoying staying like this for the next several hours, we are still in significant danger of being caught," he said. As he lowered her legs, he mumbled about what sounded like using a bed next time.

Hermione's heart raced, even as her back began to sting. 'Next time' insinuated, well, a _next time_. It was all well and good to have a sexy public shag after the amount of sexual tension between them had risen so high; it was another to contemplate that he wanted to continue with… the physical part of whatever this thing between them was. She knew she did.

He cast cleansing charms on them, along with one to tidy up her clothing and hair, and held out his arm to her. _Ron and Harry would shit bricks when she told them he was surprisingly polite after having fantastic sex, and that she should have tried it sooner._

"Food and then a diversion?"

She slid her hand into the crook of his arm with a, "Yesssss," that made him smirk.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: This chapter brought to you by Dayquil and the letter "Ugh".

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Harry Potter, the 'marriage law' concept from WIKTT, Alan Rickman, or Dayquil.

/\/\

Oh they'd created a diversion, all right.

Fred and George Weasley were, naturally, nearly hysterical with joy when Hermione Granger of all people sent a missive requesting a large-scale spectacle. It needed to be something that would draw the attention of the majority of Hogsmeade and hopefully linger in the minds and conversations of the community for several days. The caveat: it couldn't be scary or appear to be linked with the disappearance at the Hog's Head. And it had to happen _today_.

The twins of mischief and mayhem didn't disappoint. After a few hours of browsing ("Book shopping looks natural for both of us, and their Hogsmeade shop has different inventory!" she'd argued), Hermione and Severus came out of Flourish and Blotts to see the sky above them lit up with a spectacular show of the Weasley brothers' famous fireworks. The sparks transitioned to hues of red and the typical shapes morphed into hearts and rings, before a ropy message of, "Becca, will you marry me?" formed. The message then faded to a massive likeness of a certain tall, handsome redhead holding out a ring box.

Shopping patrons stopped to 'ooh' and 'ahh'. Hermione rolled her eyes as Snape scoffed next to her.

"Wait for it."

The picture slowly burned away, to be replaced by another message: "Love, Fred or George. Hope you can tell us apart!"

The light laughter of the growing crowd built as more text appeared.

"Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes now offers dramatic and hilarious proposal packages! Already proposed? Check out our festive wedding collection, including farcical hand-fastening cords and pygmy-puff ring bearers! Ginny, you still owe us 20 galleons."

Snape's scowl had softened a bit, but was still present when he looked at Hermione with a raised brow.

"While temporarily entertaining for the masses, I don't think that display will do the job."

"I wouldn't doubt your future brothers-in-law so soon, Severus. Look."

She could tell by the grimace on his face that she'd pay for that quip later, but he looked to where she pointed nonetheless. Wizards and witches alike seemed to be gravitating toward the boys' small but brightly (or garishly, depending on who you asked) decorated Hogsmeade branch, some more obviously than others. Within twenty minutes, new firework-messages were shooting into the air.

"I sincerely apologize for my false hope in the wizarding race."

/\/\

Hours later, while Severus worked holed-up in his private lab and Hermione worked on shelving all her books in her still-new room, the signal coin finally grew warm in her pocket with a message from Ron.

"AD OK. No other news yet."

Hermione let out a shuddering exhale, exhausted from the odd combination of events and emotions of the day. Hogsmeade, like other villages, had experienced an economic boom and expansion after the fall of Voldemort, and it had been stressful (but fun) to wander through the crowd of shoppers and shops that was much larger than the quaint village of her youth. Experiencing it with Severus made it different entirely, as did the lingering satisfaction and potential ramifications of their little interlude.

Safely at 'home' after their and Ron's successes, she had to look at the big picture. She didn't know Aberforth that well, but he'd been invaluable in the final moments of the war. Now, they needed the information he had – and for that information to not get to the Ministry. She summoned Wulfric to relay the message to Severus when he was at a point in brewing where he could be interrupted and, with a yawn, settled into her bed and surrendered to a slumber reserved for those who had just been unburdened of a great worry.

In the lab, Severus tested ingredients for the base of a new potion. Copper cauldrons took up an entire wall of the lab, each with a low, flickering flame underneath. His control potion bubbled in an identical cauldron near the largest work table.

They'd come up with the idea for the theoretical new contraceptive potion while waiting for the news from the youngest Weasley boy, who Severus had to admit wasn't as much of a bumbling idiot as he'd initially believed. Since the purpose of the Ministry's marriage program was to produce better offspring, it made sense to reason that at some point in the near future contraceptive charms and potions would be banned in order to facilitate more births. Merlin knows what they'd do to make sure couples were actually _fertile_ and… consummating their marriages.

The potion Severus worked on was one intended to act in a similar manner as the current contraceptive, but be undetectable to the Ministry or other bystander. They were also working on ways to smuggle in Muggle contraceptives, test their functionality in the magical world, and teach wizards and witches how to use them.

Hermione had worried that, in a marriage of two people who didn't want to be married in the first place, a child would only make things worse. Snape knew the dangers first hand. He had to remind himself, his face schooled into a familiar blank mask as Hermione broached the subject, that Potter hadn't told her of his memories. She simply saw the world through caring eyes.

_Or she just doesn't want to have your children_. He cringed at the thought of bushy-haired, hook-nosed toddlers tipping over his cauldrons. _She'd be right not to._

Logically, he knew that Hermione _didn't _want children right away, though that might not mean _never_. From the comments she made during their discussion of the new potion, it sounded as if who _he_ was wasn't a factor in her decision. She planned meticulously (as evident by her current plot to overthrow the Ministry, and the extensively tabbed organizers he'd seen her force on Potter and Weasley ten months before their N.E.W.T.S.), and surely wanted to continue her education and pursue an intellectually-stimulating career or cause. A surprise pregnancy simply did not fit her MO, though he assumed she would take the situation in stride and apply herself to motherhood as strongly as she did to everything else.

Perhaps she'd forgo children altogether and take in liberated house-elves and Potions professors.

/\/\

Hermione awoke flailing against a cocoon of sheets and blankets as the sun glared through her eyelids. It what universe did Snape tolerate sunlight?

_Wulfric_. Despite their liaison (yesterday? Had the day been _that_ long?) Snape wasn't the kind of person to enter her bedroom while she was asleep to pull back the curtains. If he wanted her awake, she'd _know_. With a groan, she extricated herself from the bedclothes and padded stiffly across the cold floor to the loo. The house seemed quiet; he must be still locked in the lab from last night. She took the opportunity to perform her morning ablutions.

Hermione wasn't a girly-girl by any stretch, but it took her significantly longer to get ready this morning. She told herself it could have easily been the lack of sleep due to stress, a different house and bed, and a certain meddling house elf. In reality, she took extra time to assess any bruises and scrapes from yesterday, soak her aching muscles in the water, and shave her legs. She came out of her rooms feeling less groggy with her hair charmed dry, but unfortunately frizzy.

Still no sign of Snape. She poked her head into the study to find it empty, then wandered down the hallway. Soft sounds and light came from the kitchen, and she headed that way.

Wulfric greeted her with a wave of his spoon-holding hand as he stood on a step-stool in front of the stove. His other hand magicked up a selection of fruit, toast, and juice on a service tray on the small kitchen island. With a flourish, he added ingredients and a spell over the pot he was tending. She was halfway through a strawberry when he turned to her.

"Apologies for the wait, Miss, but you'll forgive me when you taste dinner."

She smiled back at him. "I'm sure I will. Where's Severus?"

"Master Snape is in his laboratory. I was just about to take a tray in; I often attempt to cajole him into eating once every twenty-four hours or so." The smile on his tiny elf-lips was pure evil. "I imagine you'd have more luck, if you'd like to try?"

Hermione blushed faintly, but a growl from her stomach broke any tension there would have been in the room.

"It's settled then," he said. "Would you like me to show you to the lab?"

She nodded and grabbed the tray, waving his hands away when he moved to take it from her. He guided her through the dining room and down another hallway, then gestured toward one of the three doors at the end.

"I'll leave you to it."

His small 'pop' stood out in the silence of the hallway, and she suddenly felt like this may not have been the best idea.

She shifted the tray to one hand and approached the door to the lab, but hesitated to knock and evoke the ire of the Potions Master. She took a deep breath and raised her knuckles, but the door opened before she made a sound.

"Hovering about the doorway like a petrified Hufflepuff is just as annoying as interrupting, Granger."

She gaped at him for just a moment, then frowned. He was going to act like nothing happened, wasn't he? Bastard!

His features softened slightly, and she caught the glint of mirth in his eyes – deep, deep down in there, nearly drowned out by all the blackness. The eyes she stared into flicked their gaze to the tray she held, and Severus waved her into the lab.

The lab distracted her; it seemed to have different sections, which she supposed made sense in the face of much more dangerous and sensitive ingredients than they'd dealt with at Hogwarts. The section they occupied had a small bar with two stools at the forefront, and she sat the tray there while she continued surveying the room. Cabinets and shelves lined the walls with neatly organized tools, gadgets, and references. The worktables – and there were lots of them – looked to be of several different finishes and materials and each had cutlery and bins nearby. Large, deep sinks flanked a line of cauldrons on the far wall. The lighting, clean lines, and smooth surfaces reminded her of her parents' dentistry offices, or perhaps a Muggle hospital. The room screamed "sterile", but the elements nearest the door were obviously used less formally.

"I presume Wulfric wishes me to eat."

Hermione shifted her gaze at the sound of a stool scraping against the floor. There was Snape, surly snark-master of the dungeons and lead actor in Neville's nightmares, sitting on a stool at a bar and smirking at her around a strawberry.

She'd never wanted to be a strawberry before.

"Yes." She clumsily made her way onto the stool and grabbed some toast. They ate in silence for a few minutes, and she spoke while he drained the last of his juice. "He seemed worried. Don't tell me you've been in here since last night and haven't eaten anything."

"I won't." He stood and the tray, along with the few crumbs on the table and their clothes, vanished. "Come. I'll show you how it's progressing."

_So that's a "yes"._

She followed him across the room to the line of cauldrons, but her eyes were fixated on the experimenter rather than his experiment. He'd changed into more lab-friendly clothes since last night: his usual black pants, well-worn boots, and a grey button-up shirt of which he'd folded the sleeves a quarter of the way up. The open top button let the tiniest triangle of his pale chest peek out; the pants clung and slacked in all the right places. What she couldn't stop looking at was his hands: elegant, quick, and experienced, with one blackened nail from a recent mishap.

"I've already eliminated the lacewing variant." He gestured to the far left cauldron, which contained a still slop in a murky white. The others remained at a simmer and were significantly brighter, though they varied in color.

"I see. What did it actually turn into?"

"Very expensive glue paste." He pointed at the third cauldron. "The murtlap substitution looks promising, but we'll know if it's an abysmal failure or not in three hours."

Hermione nodded again, her lips twitching up in a small smile. This was his element. _This_ was what he'd wanted to do his whole life: potions research, potions development, potions theory and brewing. With one of the magical world's greatest potioneers now able to practice his craft for something other than child- and infirmary-level potions or the ravings of a mad man, who knew what breakthroughs would happen in the next five, ten, twenty years…

"Miss- Hermione, do _not_ faint, vomit, or otherwise risk contaminating my lab." His arms twitched slightly as if they were ready to catch her or shove her away, depending on the circumstance.

She rolled her eyes. "Fear not, your precious 'gross things in jars' are safe."

"I…" he glided to the farthest cauldron and gave five counter-clockwise stirs. "… am also adverse to the concept of you becoming injured or ill."

"There we have it: our wedding vows."

Whatever repercussions came from that statement would be well worth it if only for the deathly pale deer-in-headlights look on Severus' face as he stepped back from the cauldron.

"Miss Granger, I find t-"

She reached out to put a hand on his arm. "Severus, I'm only teasing you."

He continued to sulk. She stepped forward and brushed her hand across his chest in a motion of straightening the fabric of his shirt.

"It's what people do when they're friends." She cringed a little. "Or more than friends. Or people roped into a legally binding contract but secretly plotting against it and enjoying certain _perks_."

That got his attention.

His brow lifted marginally, and then he quickly crossed the room to scratch something into his notes that laid open on one of the worktables. She followed and stood before him; he leaned back against the table, his hands resting next to his hips on the surface in a deceivingly casual manner.

"Tell me, _Miss Granger_, what are these perks you speak of?"

"Uh… carpooling?" _How had he gotten the upper hand in this conversation? _"Splitting bills? Multi-floo discounts?"

"Those are quite interesting, but I'm more concerned in the perks that benefit you _personally_." He crossed his arms over his chest and raised a brow at her. It wasn't as intimidating as it was in his full professor garb; in fact, it had quite the opposite effect of pulling the fabric of his shirt tighter and revealing a hint of the toned muscles beneath.

"Well, you certainly part a crowd easier than I do." She ticked off fingers on her hand. "I'll never have to brew a headache potion again. Your greyscale wardrobe matches nearly everything, so I can wear whatever I want to formal events. And probably leave early, since you normally do so."

"All adequate reasons to enjoy our… _partnership_."

She knew they'd have to "talk" eventually, but had been hoping to put it off – even as annoyed as she had been when she initially thought he'd just pretend it never happened. Goading her about it was much worse, she'd decided. _Maybe it's the only way he knows how to flirt._

The silence was killing her. She knew he was using it to make her talk, but she just couldn't take it. She had to think of something. She took a step toward him, her legs nearly touching his.

"And what do you enjoy about it?" Her eyes met his in challenge. He smirked.

"If you want a _quid pro quo_, Miss Granger, you'll have to give me something of use to start out with… though I _do_ admire your rather Slytherin tactics." A swirling green script penned out several letters in the air, and Severus ended the charm with his wand. "And I now have two and a half hours free of cauldron-babysitting to hear your answers."

After a pause, she mumbled something and looked away from him. He cleared his throat.

"I feel safe around you," she said. "There."

"And why is that?" There was a hint of something foreign in his voice that she couldn't quite recognize. She looked up at him with a slight laugh.

"Are you kidding? You once put yourself between me and a _werewolf,_ in addition to ferreting me away to a hide-out a few days ago and agreeing to scam the Ministry with me. I've seen you angry, too – the sheer magical power radiating off you is insane. I mean, I understand it, of course, but it's still impressive. No one fucks with Severus Snape, and if I'm in your personal bubble at the time that probably spills over onto me."

He was quiet again.

"I'm guessing that's not a good enough answer, either."

He raised a brow. "I already told you I'm not the knight in shining armor that you keep endeavoring to paint me as."

She glanced at the door, then sighed. They'd have to talk about it eventually, and if she didn't want to sit here playing mind games with a retired double-agent she was going to have to summon up some of her inner Gryffindor and take one for the team. He'd clearly enjoyed himself, so her lingering fear of rejection shouldn't amount to anything. She'd shelve the "not a hero" conversation for a time when she had more ammunition and a structured argument.

"_Fine_." She looked him straight in the eye. "I _enjoyed_ our 'activities' yesterday."

He didn't move. He didn't blink. She wasn't sure he even _breathed_.

"And what of the possibility of discovery?"

She could have heard a quill drop from the study, it was so quiet. A charged tension between them nearly magnetized her, and she felt herself leaning ever so slightly toward him; she could feel the heat of his leg as the inside of her knee brushed his leg.

"The risk involved made it all the more thrilling."

Snape's eyes widened marginally; she wouldn't have noticed the subtle change it if she hadn't been staring at them.

"And is this an aspect of our… arrangement… that you'd like to continue?"

Her eyes darted down of their own accord, but she tore them away from the floorboards to look back up at him.

"Yes. But if you keep taking me against rough, rocky surfaces, you'll have to invest in new robes for me and brewing mass quantities of healing potions."

His lips raised into an absolutely devilish smirk.

"I think that can be arranged."


End file.
